Echoes Of A Dream
by WishfulThinker66
Summary: Waking up to a true nightmare, is Rick Grimes strong enough to let dreams of the heart become a reality worth fighting for? A story of two souls forged by fate and bound together by an extraordinary love. Rick/OC and the original cast. (Starts with the initial outbreak in a slightly AU world where Rick and Lori are divorced.) Rated M for future sweet yummy smut...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This is a story for all you Dead fans who love Rick Grimes as much as I do. I hope you enjoy this trip back to the early days when his hair was short and his ethics ran deep. Maybe this time the love of a very special woman can keep him from becoming the monster he fights so hard not to be.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing from the world of The Walking Dead.** _ **(But it doesn't stop me from dreaming about its sexy sheriff!)**_

 **Enjoy…**

* * *

Chapter One

The sharp smell of antiseptic almost masks the strong scent of fear and frustration clinging to the turquoise blue paint of the pediatric ward of Atlanta's Northside hospital. Two years at Northside, Erin Butler can still taste the heartache and pity that floats down the corridor leading up to the nurse's station at the center of the wing. Walking briskly past a brightly colored mural of cheerful sea creatures meant to inspire glee during a less than joyful time, Erin chews on her bottom lip as the occasional beep and random chirp echo about the honeycomb of rooms that make up the unit.

Her three mile morning jog along the Chattahoochee River had done little to ease her concern for six year old Danny Taylor, admitted three days ago with stage II non-Hodgkin lymphoma. She was fond of every child inhabiting the ward, but little Danny had wormed his way deep into her heart with his toothless grin and bite me attitude.

"Hey, Erin! Wait up."

Turning at the sound of her friend's voice, Erin stops just before the nurses station where she was hoping to get a good report on Danny. "Hi Liz. What's up?" Erin asks, pulling her long auburn waves into a loose pony tail as she watches Elizabeth Martin hustling toward her, reminding her of their early days as fresh new registered nurses in the emergency room at Northside, fast on their feet and eager to learn.

"They want you downstairs today," her friend informs her. "I guess you didn't get your pager fixed yet, huh?"

"Just got a new one this morning," Erin replies, indignant. "That's why I'm late getting up here." She pulls the beeper from the pocket of her burgundy scrubs, green eyes glaring at the small rectangular screen that should be displaying the time and date if nothing else, but for some reason is refusing to do so. "Son of a bitch," she murmurs, lips pursed tightly inside a frown.

"Well, we're short staffed in the pit this morning and Reynolds asked for you personally."

"Fine," she replies semi-genially, accepting that she would be an obvious choice since she was an E.R. nurse before switching to pediatrics, though she is not looking forward to another crazy Sunday in the Emergency Room. Weekends are the worst and the fact that it's a holiday will make it completely insane.

Before hurrying off with Liz, Erin turns to the older woman sitting behind the large counter decked with several fake plants to add warmth to the atmosphere. "Alice, how's Danny doing?" she asks hopefully, holding her breath for good news.

"Same as last night. I'll send word if anything changes," Alice answers, moving a stack of patient files from one side of the circular desk to the other. "And I'll let Kathy know where you'll be," she adds, referring to the head nurse.

"Thanks."

Entering the elevator, her friend brushes her blonde bangs out of her eyes and reaches over to depress the round button marked One to deliver them to the first floor. "So did Tim get off on Thursday for the Braves game?"

"Yeah. He switched his shift with someone so he'll be able to come with us." Erin's thoughts drift to her boyfriend of eighteen months as she watches the numbers steadily decrease above the elevator door. A radiology technician in the same hospital, Tim Jameson was looking to move their relationship to the next level, despite her misgivings on the subject. She'd been avoiding the topic for the past month, steering around any talk of marriage whenever he brought it up. She knows he is getting impatient to make that commitment but she's just not sure that they should. Yes, she ought to be jumping at the chance, but she just can't seem to lift her feet.

For several agonizing years, when the odds of a future with a great guy and a white picket fence were stacked heavily against her, all she had wanted was a simple life and someone to grow old with. Now, her fairly simple life is going well, but is Tim the one she'll be seeing through her bifocals in the rocker next to hers in fifty years? Is he really the one and is it really their time right now? Will her inability to have children eventually drive them apart even though he promises that he's okay with it? Is that a chance she is willing to take? Or is it just an excuse that allows her to keep dragging her feet toward that proverbial fence.

Never good at hiding her feelings, she isn't surprised when her friend's voice breaks into her thoughts asking, "Is he still pressuring you to get married?"

"Not exactly," Erin sighs as the elevator doors slide open on the first floor. "He says he'll settle for just moving in together for now."

"So move in with him," Liz continues the conversation as she tries to keep up with Erin's long strides as they walk swiftly down the beige hallway leading to the emergency room.

Hearing the slight wheeze in Liz's voice, Erin slows her pace for her plus size friend. At a smidge over five feet tall with vast curves that could stop an army and the mouth to rival a drill sergeant, Liz stands half a foot shorter than Erin but carries herself with such confidence that her stout frame gives the impression that she could actually look down at a professional basketball player.

"You're not getting any younger you know,"Liz chides with a half-hearted elbow in Erin's ribs.

"I'm only twenty-six! And everything is good the way it is, why should we screw that up?"

"Come on, Erin… you know you love each other and it wouldn't screw anything up. Are you still worried that he's gonna regret not having kids of his own someday?"

"He says he's fine with adopting and I believe him," she answers, trying to convince herself of that statement. "And just because I may love him doesn't mean I'm in any rush to wash his underwear," she quips as she pushes through the double doors of the already buzzing emergency room.

* * *

Three hours and countless contusions, cuts and coughs later, Erin opens the curtain on an inebriated Easter bunny. According to his chart from the triage nurse, fifty-four year old Russell Johnson has a laceration on his left temple, for which he cannot recall the cause. He was driven to the hospital by a maintenance worker from the mall, but from the smell of alcohol emanating from the white furry rabbit suit, Erin doubts he would remember even that much.

"Okay, Mr. Johnson - ," she begins, hoping to get through this as quickly as possible.

"Ooh pretty girl, come sit on my lap. I've got a nice carrot stick for you," he interrupts, glossy eyes leering at Erin as he lifts the head of the costume off of his groin. "Too bad you're not wearin' one a them slutty nurse outfits. My fav'rite fantasy," he slurs, to her disgust.

"God help me," she murmurs under her breath as she reaches for the infrared thermometer to take his temperature. Turning back to her patient, she continues, "That's a nice gash on your forehead." She nods to the thin stream of blood and perspiration dripping down the side of his face due to the absence of the bandage he refuses to leave on."Let's get your vitals and then I'll clean it out so the doctor can stitch you up."

Though she could handle the task as a second year student in the Physician's Assistant program, Erin is more than happy to hand over this man's stitching to one of the doctors.

"Ya wanna take my tem'ture? Lemme drop my pants for you," he laughs with a lecherous smirk and Erin desperately misses the sweet innocence of the pediatric ward.

"No, that won't be necessary." _Thank God._ "You just have to hold still and your ear will tell me what I need to know." Holding the device just inside the shell of his ear, she suddenly feels a large, sweaty hand on the cheek of her butt.

Removing the thermometer slowly, she reins her Scottish temper, pastes a brilliantly sweet smile on her face and very calmly responds to his gesture, "If you don't get your fucking hand off my ass, the doctor will be sewing up two big gashes on your head."

"Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty to me."

Erin feels a quick squeeze before he pulls his arm back in surrender at the thunderous glare she levels him with. "Cut the shit, Bugs, or I will be happy to let you bleed to death," she threatens solemnly.

Shivering with revulsion, she records his temperature of 98.9 and lifts his wrist to check his pulse, doing her best to ignore his comments about her dexterous fingers.

Wrapping the blood pressure cuff tightly around his furry arm, she squeezes the bulb until it is completely, and painfully – to her satisfaction, inflated. His vitals are a little off but not dangerously so, and nothing that a good amount of coffee couldn't fix.

Preparing to clean the wound on his head, Erin presses a moist cloth over the area, soaking up the oozing blood and beads of sweat covering his temple. Expecting more vulgar comments that she is more than ready to ignore, she is completely taken aback to feel a slight pressure against her breast. Instinctively, and quite unprofessionally, she whips her elbow against his jaw, knocking his head back and rendering him blessedly speechless as the drunken man passes out cold.

She turns quickly, scanning the area with prayers that nobody had witnessed the assault on her patient, no matter that he deserved it. Thankfully, she sees the hustle and bustle of the trauma center continuing to thrum blindly around her... until she notices the King County police officer watching her from the admit desk about twenty feet away. Their eyes connect. Her belly sinks.

 _Fuck._

* * *

Sheriff's Deputy Rick Grimes can't stop the smile from lifting the corner of his mouth as he gives a brief nod to the frustrated young nurse. It may have been illegal, certainly unethical, but the bastard had it coming from what Rick could tell and he was not about to give her a hard time for defending herself. If she hadn't, he was a split second away from throttling the rabbit himself, his tensed shoulders already leaning in her direction.

He was just grateful that his partner hadn't witnessed the scene. Not that he would reprimand the nurse either, but it would have given Shane an excuse to talk to – and ultimately hit on – the pretty redhead.

With nice curves on a trim athletic body beneath the burgundy scrubs, she is not the standard voluptuous starlet that Shane usually goes for, but Rick knows that wouldn't stop the man from trying. Her pretty face is all he would need to see for her to become a blip on his radar. But not today. Not her. She's had enough insensitive advances for one day and he'll do whatever is necessary to spare her further aggravation from his womanizing friend.

Relaxing the hands that he didn't even realize had tightened into fists, Rick smiles at her deer-in-the-headlights expression and quickly looks away as the deep voice of Deputy Shane Walsh reaches his ears.

"Sheila says she'll call if they need anything else." Rick's partner runs his hand through his thick black hair and glances in the direction that Rick was not quick enough to hide. "Nice," Shane offers, looking back at him with a wry smile.

"Come on." Rick takes a few deliberate steps toward the waiting room with hopes that his partner will follow his lead.

"You get her number?" his best friend continues as he falls in step beside Rick as they make their way past the multitude of patients sprawled about the chairs as they miserably wait their turn.

"We gotta stop by old Mr. Figgins' place. Seems the boys took a bat to his mailbox again," Rick informs him while doing his best to ignore his goading.

"Come on, man. When are you gonna put yourself out there again? It's been almost two years since you and Lori split. It's time to stop warmin' the bench and swing for a homerun." With his tongue in his cheek, Shane swings an imaginary bat and then gyrates his hips to illustrate his meaning.

Rick shakes his head with a chuckle at his friend's gestures. _At least Shane isn't flirting with my nurse._ Wait, what?! _When did the redhead become My nurse?_

With several confusing blinks, he shakes off the sudden feeling of fierce protectiveness that flows through his bloodstream. He turns his attention back to his partner, back to solid ground. Annoying, but solid ground. "Maybe I like my spot on the bench. Keeps me out of trouble and gives me more time with my son."

"You takin' Carl down to the cabin next weekend? Did you get the roof patched up yet?" Shane asks as they walk across the parking lot toward their patrol car, the siren of a nearby ambulance getting louder and louder as it shrieks through the midday heat.

"Yeah, I got up there the other day. Hopefully that'll be the last leak." Rick opens the driver's side door and slides behind the wheel as Shane takes the passenger seat.

"Yeah, you say that every time. Come on, you know you'll be back up there by the end of summer."

"I know," Rick exhales a defeated sigh. "I'll be patching that damn roof 'til I'm seventy, just like my grandpa. But if it keeps Carl happy, I won't complain." He smiles, thinking of all the weekends he'd spent at his grandfather's cabin on the bank of Hawkins Lake in Woodland. His mother's dad was a tough old bird that Rick had feared when he was very young, and then grew to respect as an early teen when his own father was either too drunk - or too annoyed that he wasn't drunk – to spend time with his family. They drifted apart for a time when Rick had gone through a rebellious stage after his father had left them, but reconnected and were closer than ever by his late teens. He is eternally grateful to his stepdad for that. He has many fond memories of the old cedar cabin, as well as the old man, and he hopes to continue the weekend camping-fishing-hunting traditions with Carl. If he could just keep the damn roof from collapsing in on them.

* * *

Erin had held her breath until the cop gave her a short nod with a half-smile. And then his lips spread even further into a true grin that made her belly flutter with relief. She couldn't believe it. He actually smiled! _Oh, thank you baby Jesus!_ Watching the officer lead his partner out of the building, she regained some hope that there were at least a few good, decent people in the world. Smiling at the notion, she returned to her task of cleaning Mr. Johnson's temple while soft snores rose from his inert form.

She did not think of the officer again until she was back in the pit three days later…

Looking up from the chart of a woman with abdominal pain, Erin sees a team of paramedics rushing thru the E.R. with a gurney that holds the motionless body of the cop with the nice smile. From the urgency of their actions, and the deeply concerned look on his partner's face, she knows that it is bad. The little flutter in her belly dips in sympathy.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

" _More cases of the strange virus are being reported at an alarming rate all across Europe and Asia. Scientists at the Center For Disease Control in France have been working diligently but have yet to come up with any answers, according to a spokesperson for the French CDC."_

As Erin adds a generous amount of milk and sugar to her steaming cup of coffee, she listens with growing concern as the morning news anchorman informs the American public of the rapidly spreading epidemic that began in Germany just a few days ago.

" _Government officials are still denying the rumor of a possible leak of a weaponized virus. They are also denying all suggestions of a cover up, despite the fact that we now know that over thirty cases were reported to the CDC before the public was ever informed."_

 _This is crazy!_ She takes a sip of the hot brew, hoping like hell that these reporters are exaggerating about the ferocity of the epidemic. She is just glad that it is not happening in the states. Although by the end of her shift yesterday, more than one colleague had said that they were going to stock up on bottled water on their way home from work, believing it was only a matter of time. _Could they be right?_

She mentally adds a few essential items to her grocery list, grateful that she has the day off.

" _In an effort to contain the virus, the U.S. has banned all international flights to and from Europe, Africa and Asia."_

Leaving her coffee on the kitchen counter, she gathers several days' worth of newspapers that had accumulated on the dining room table and carries them down to the garage. Nearing the large stack of old papers waiting to go out to the curb for recycling, Erin's eye catches on the top copy of _The Atlanta Telegraph_ with the headline 'Officer Shot'above a picture of the cop who had smiled at her that day in the E.R. Lifting that copy from the stack, she replaces it with the papers in her hand and carries the April twenty-ninth issue into the sunlight coming through the small windows of the wide bay door.

She remembers when he was brought in ten days ago and knows that although the surgery to remove the bullet was successful, he has yet to wake from a coma. _Rick Grimes._ She absently traces a fingertip over the photograph. _Poor guy, will you ever wake up?_

Her finger glides gently across his short dark hair, down the sharp lines cutting into a strong jaw, over the small cleft dimpling his squared chin, down the fine English nose that sits above nicely shaped lips that had curved their smile in her direction, and along the dark brows shadowing intelligent eyes that had once shone brightly upon her.

But now their flat monochromatic gaze stares up from the paper and she wonders if he'll ever open his eyes to the world again. A sadness that rivals the loss of a dear friend suddenly fills her heart at the thought of him never waking up.

As if willing him to wake, she focuses intently on his eyes and can't help but wonder what color they are, the black and white print not disclosing any particular hue. At the hospital she remembers them being fairly light but from the distance it was hard to tell. If she'd had to guess, she would say they were blue. Softly tracing the pad of her finger over the one-dimensional image now, for reasons she cannot fathom, she is certain they are blue; bright blue eyes that shine proud in his King County uniform.

Lost in the memory of a friendly smile on a crazy Easter morning, she doesn't hear the first ring of her cell phone as it echoes off the kitchen walls. Or the second ring. When the third ring penetrates her thoughts she bolts toward the sound, dropping the newspaper on top of its mates on her way out the door.

Knowing it will be Tim calling from Nashville, Erin races back to the kitchen and grabs her phone a moment before her voicemail is about to take over. "Hey," she says breathlessly while searching for the remote to turn the volume down on the television in the den.

"Hey, babe. How's it going down there?" Tim's voice is comforting after listening to the frightening reports from the morning news.

"Okay so far. No reports of feverish people attacking each other anyway. Can you believe what's going on out there? This is really bad, Tim."

"I know. I went to Walmart last night and all the survivalists were stocking up for the apocalypse. It was insane. I don't think it'll get this far though."

"God, I hope not. How's your Uncle Henry doing? Can you come home today?"

"They're discharging him this afternoon and the home health aide will start tomorrow morning. I'll leave as soon as she gets settled. How's Nikki? Does he miss me at all?"

She can hear the smile in his voice when Tim mentions his four year old Siberian Husky. "Oh, he misses you terribly," she replies dramatically, teasing her boyfriend even though she's pretty certain that the big dog really does miss him terribly. "I'm heading over there in a little bit. I'll give him a big hug from you before we go on our run."

"Thanks," he chuckles from a kitchen in Tennessee nearly four hours away. "I'll call you tomorrow before I leave. I love you."

"Me too," she replies with her usual response before disconnecting their call.

After taking a short run with Nikki, the rest of her day is spent doing mundane chores; tidying her already spotless townhouse and contemplating her relationship with Tim while restlessly listening to the attractive newscasters describe the terrifying events that are happening on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. _God, what is going on?!_

By the time the evening news begins, the deadly virus has reached the most powerful country in the world.

Erin stares at the television as her favorite macaroni and cheese grows cold on the plate in front of her. She listens intently, horrified, as the president of the United States addresses his citizens from the Oval Office, informing them that two reported cases of the virus have been confirmed in Boston. He urges everyone not to panic while the National Guard is called in to New England. Erin pushes her plate away as the few mouthfuls she had swallowed begin to churn inside her stomach.

" _As of now, all airports and train stations across the country will be closed until further notice,"_ the president continues as Erin grabs her cell phone to call her parents in New York. It takes fifteen minutes to get through to them, the phone service being temperamental with everyone reaching out to their loved ones as the world continues to tilt off its axis.

After hearing her parent's plans of driving to Pennsylvania to ride this out in the quiet countryside with her aunt and uncle, Erin tries to reach her sister in Denver. Two hours later with no connection made through phone or text, she sends up a silent prayer that her family remains safe.

Turning off the 11:00 news and its report of forty-seven cases now confirmed on the East coast, Erin picks up her iPad to get blissfully lost in a favorite romance from Nora Roberts. She had planned to start reading Stephen King's latest terror but decided it was definitely not the book to help her escape from the true horrors going on in the world today.

Six hours later, she rolls over beneath her cool sheets, slowly surfacing from a dream where she is jogging along the river next to a guy with dark brown hair. She can't see his face and doesn't know who he is, but she feels completely at ease with him nonetheless. Keeping pace just behind her partner – yes, he is definitely her partner – she adjusts the earbud in her right ear, bringing the anthemic chords of Bruce Springsteen's Born To Run into better clarity, before it ridiculously dissolves, as dreams do, into the tinny jingle of a cellular phone.

Erin opens her eyes, blinks twice and closes them again, trying to grasp onto the images that are slipping away with every pulse of the colon on her digital alarm clock. She thinks of the Chattahoochee River for the briefest of moments, and then it is gone.

As the dream escapes into the ether, a face suddenly comes to mind; a handsome face with beautiful eyes and a comforting smile, standing proud and proficient in his police uniform. "Rick?" she asks softly as if he were just behind the shadowed blades of her ceiling fan, her voice hoarse from sleep and the single word loud in the stillness of her bedroom.

The shrill chirp of her phone startles her from her reverie and she quickly grabs it from the nightstand. Immediately alert, she taps the Answer button without looking at the caller as she reads 5:22 in obnoxious bold red on the clock. "Hello."

"Erin? It's Liz."

Her friend's voice sounds strange to her ears, from more than just the aftereffects of a dream gone astray. "What's the matter?"

"Stay home today. Or better yet, go down to your cousin's in LaGrange. Do not come in to work today," Liz says hurriedly in little more than a harsh whisper.

The hushed tones only add to the urgency of her words as Erin considers her friend's warning. "Why, what's going on Liz?" Background sounds of distressed voices drown out the low hum of Liz's distraught breathing. "Oh, God, it's here, isn't it? That fucking virus!"

"I'm not sure exactly but it's been crazy here all night. We were supposed to be airlifting the critical care patients to a hospital in Savannah but then the military showed up an hour ago. They stopped our transfers and aren't saying much to any of the staff here but I have a bad feeling about these guys. They won't even make eye contact with us. Shit, hang on…"

Erin hears a cacophony of distorted noise in the background followed by a lot of shouting and screaming from both men and women alike. "Liz?" She holds her breath when she hears the sound of firecrackers just before the line goes dead. _"Liz!" Oh, God._

After several failed attempts at getting her friend back on the line, she heeds her advice and decides to pack a bag and take a ride down to LaGrange. Not wanting to wake her cousins, she sends a quick text with trembling fingers letting them know to expect her in a few hours. It takes several tries but the text finally goes through.

Terrified for all her friends and little patients at Northside Hospital, she tries not to think of them as she types a short text to Tim. Cursing the frustratingly inefficient autocorrect in an effort to have him meet her and Nikki at her cousin's house, the image of officer Rick Grimes being wheeled into the hospital on a squeaking gurney sparks at the back of her mind. She absently wipes an itch at the corner of her eye and is surprised to feel the remnant of a salty teardrop glistening on her fingertip. She stares at it for a moment as if it is speaking to her, trying to tell her something. With a heavy heart, Erin rubs the moisture against her thumb and finishes typing her message to Tim.

Grabbing the biggest duffel bag she owns, she sets it on her crumpled sheets and stuffs it with enough clothes to last a week, stretching the fabric along the zipper when she struggles to close it up. She retrieves the large blue backpack that she frequently uses on hikes with Tim and gathers her toothbrush and other personal items.

Although she's confident that her Aunt Jane won't mind her last minute intrusion, Erin also packs two bags of groceries to be less of a burden on her and her two daughters. A smile softens the lines etched across her forehead as she tosses a box of Slim Jims into the second bag, knowing her youngest cousin will be more than happy to share them with her. For a moment, she allows herself a deep breath. Relaxing her shoulders, she looks forward to seeing the girls again. Both busy with classes at a local college, they haven't gotten together since Christmas. She would have gone down for Easter as she's done since moving to Georgia seven years ago, but her work schedule prevented that celebration this year. No, this year she was stuck in the ER with a drunken bunny.

Thinking of work she grabs her cell and tries to get Liz again. "Pick up, pick up, pick up," she whispers desperately, waiting to hear a ring that never comes. Instead, she hears that dreaded automaton telling her that her call cannot be completed as dialed and to please try her call again later. Sending up another prayer for her friend, she tries to reach several other people from work. After the fourth attempt with the same results, she curses the cellular system and returns to her task, refusing to acknowledge the reason for the unresponsive phones.

With two bags completely full of groceries sitting on the kitchen table, she grabs a six pack of Propel waters from the fridge along with a large souvenir cup from Universal Studios filled with ice water, knowing her jittery nerves would not do well with coffee this morning.

Throwing her phone and its charger into her purse, she opens a small drawer beneath the counter and pulls out a pad of note paper and a pen. She scribbles a quick note to Tim, in case he never got her text, and leaves it on the table beneath a tall salt shaker. Then she grabs her keys and hits the road.

* * *

After worming her way through unusually heavy traffic for such an early hour, Erin steps out of her car twenty-five minutes later and notices a young boy of about ten or twelve standing in the driveway of a small ranch house two doors down from Tim's place. Staring pointedly down the street, he is obviously waiting for someone as he restlessly shifts on the balls of his feet. She closes the door of her Toyota and watches as a burly dark-haired man comes out of the house and walks toward the boy.

As she punches in the four digit security code to open Tim's garage door, she glances over to see the man kneeling in front of the boy, hands on his shoulders comfortingly, then pulling him into his arms as the boy shakes his head vigorously. Though she can only hear distorted murmurs from this distance, one word she hears clearly is 'No', repeated again and again in anguish from the heartbroken child.

Tearing her eyes away from the sorrowful scene of the neighbor's distress, she enters her boyfriend's garage to the sound of deep barks resonating from within the home. She opens the inner door to be greeted by eighty-five pounds of pure happiness encased inside a heavy coat of black and white fur. "Hey boy, want to go for a ride?" She runs her fingers through his thick scruff and feels her taut nerves loosen slightly.

After a few moments of much needed relaxation therapy with Nikki, she retrieves his leash, food, treats, bowls and bed. _Thank God Aunt Jane is a dog lover._

Backing out of the driveway she looks up at the dawning clear blue sky, wondering how everything can feel so topsy-turvy on such a beautiful day.

After a few short turns through the neighborhood, she gets to the main road following a tan Cherokee jeep, trying to convince herself that all of the unusual activity in this sleepy little town is no more than the public overreacting to sensationalistic news. The rising hairs on the back of her neck and the thick knot in the pit of her stomach tell her differently though as she follows the jeep up the ramp onto Route 285 heading south.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Shane lets out another frustrated sigh as he stares through the windshield of the Cherokee at the long line of brake lights in front of them. He glances at the rearview mirror, shifting slightly to look at Carl. He can almost see the salty tear tracks lining the boys pale cheeks as he sleeps with his head cushioned on a balled up sweatshirt against the backseat window. _Poor kid_. He's still reeling from his father lying in a coma after being shot less than two weeks ago. Telling him that his mom is gone too was the hardest thing Shane's ever had to do. So he promised Rick's son that he would take care of him no matter what, which meant packing up all the camping gear and taking him and his Aunt Kelly down to her grandfather's cabin.

Thinking of all the times that he and Rick had spent at that cabin over the years makes his heart twist, knowing that his partner won't have a chance to make new memories with his son, as he was so looking forward to doing.

Kelly's voice breaks into his thoughts, edgy and stricken. "Maybe Lori's really okay. Maybe she'll come back and see the note we left."

"If she's okay she'll meet us at the cabin," he replies soberly.

"But you don't think she's alright, do you?"

Shaking his head he answers quietly, "She's been gone all night and I couldn't find her anywhere. She'd never leave Carl." He looks across the center console at Rick's sister, her shoulder length curly brunette hair framing her worried face. "Something bad must have happened to her, Kel."

"The virus?"

"Maybe. I know it's here. I didn't want to say anything in front of Carl but there were soldiers at the hospital." He glances again at the rearview mirror before continuing in a hushed tone. "They shot everyone, Kelly. Everyone. I swear I'd never seen anything like it," he adds in a distant voice as horrific images fill his mind, branding his soul and numbing his heart.

"Oh, God. Rick?" she asks quickly of her older brother lying helpless in the hospital, unable to defend himself.

"I don't know. I couldn't get to his room." He shakes his head and fights the guilt that tries to creep into his bones. "It was a fucking warzone. I had to get you and Carl away from there. That's what Rick would have wanted. I have to keep you two safe," he finishes adamantly, refusing to let the guilt slither into his soul as her tears force him to keep his focus on the frustrating line of brake lights in front of him.

* * *

Two hours later they have only moved about a half mile further up the road and the highway is a literal parking lot. Engines are turned off while travelers mill about between the vehicles and along the wide shoulder. With tensions running high and no answers in sight, several small fistfights break out among the refugees but for the most part people are friendly, happily helping each other when needed.

Erin passes the time with Kelly, the aunt of the boy she saw crying by Tim's house early that morning. Hearing that the boy just lost both of his parents broke her heart. He'd been withdrawn all day, understandably, but seems to be perking up a little bit as he plays checkers with a young girl named Sophia in the back of her family's car. Her mom, Carol, is very nice but Erin isn't crazy about her father. Ed is one of those diehard survivalist types with an 'I told you so' attitude and a permanent scowl.

There is quite an eclectic group of people in the cluster of vehicles closest to hers with whom she tries to make the best of a very bad situation. Between attempts of trying to reach her aunt, her parents, her sister and her boyfriend, she spends the day talking, worrying, analyzing, guessing, complaining and planning with Kelly and Shane - who she originally thought was the boy's uncle, and Glenn, Dale, T-Dog, Jacqui, sisters Amy and Andrea and brothers Merle and Daryl. The younger Daryl seems like a nice enough guy - a little rough around the edges but at least he isn't shooting dirty looks at the dark skinned T-Dog and Jacqui like his brother is doing throughout the day. As opinions spew, waver and rebound amongst the group, Erin gives Merle and Ed a wide berth.

She's not entirely comfortable with Shane either, though she's not exactly sure why. She feels like she knows him from somewhere but is frustratingly unable to place him. Perhaps she had seen him at Kelly's house another time when she was at Tim's. Regardless, she doesn't have the energy or will to waste too much time on the thought and lets it drift back to the recesses of her mind to wait until she's ready to fiddle with it on another day.

Shortly before sundown, tempers flare and fights become bolder and bloodier as the direness of the whole situation becomes unbearably clear. Erin looks over Kelly's shoulder to see Shane walk toward their little group gathered in front of Dale's RV. They've got a roadmap spread open on the trunk of Glenn's car as T-Dog runs his dark finger along the thin lines of the Georgia highway system.

Erin hears Carl and Sophia laughing at Nikki inside the camper as Shane steps in next to Kelly. The smile he gives her is friendly enough but she just can't shake the unsettling feeling she gets from the man who has been nothing but nice to her all day.

"Hey, Glenn and T-Dog say there's an old quarry not far from here that we could camp out at tonight," Kelly informs Shane, voice hopeful with any kind of plan that will get them off of the hindered highway.

"Yeah, I know the one. Just on the other side of those woods." He lifts his chin over his left shoulder. "I was thinking the same thing."

"Glenn says we can cut across that field to an access road."

"Yup. Let's get the fuck outta here. It's gonna get real ugly real quick come nightfall."

"Did you hear anything new on the radio, Shane?" Andrea asks before he walks away.

"Nah. Same old shit telling us not to panic because the government is taking care of everything," he answers bitterly.

"Yeah, that's what worries me," Dale adds dryly as he looks up and down the long line of vehicles knotted on the Georgia highway.

* * *

By the time they reach the quarry with the sky painted a deep rust as the sun balances on the horizon, Erin counts a caravan of nine cars and one motorcycle carrying a total of fifteen people.

That night many of the evacuee's sleep in their cars while the ones who had tents pitch them on the side of the gravel path above the manmade lake. Erin would have been okay in her car, but is thankful to accept Shane's offer of his place in the tent with Kelly and Carl while he sleeps in the Cherokee. She knows the main reason for his generosity is so Nikki would sleep in the tent too and she is happy to let the dog curl up with Carl. She knows the lovable beast will go a long way in helping the boy get through his first night without either of his parents.

Erin snuggles deeper into the sleeping bag as the air inside the tent cools dramatically with the chilly midnight hour. She sleeps fitfully after the long stressful day, tossing and turning sporadically between dreams of congested tunnels and leaking submarines. As frightening and frustrating as those are, the one dream that shakes her to the core is the one she has just before waking in a cold sweat minutes before dawn.

 _Erin rushes into room number 450 as the blare of the fire engines grows louder and louder. The patient lies motionless, oblivious to the echoing sirens and her repeated screams of his name. He is the only patient in her hospital and it is imperative that she save him. The fire hasn't reached this floor yet but she knows it will soon; she has got to wake him before it's too late for both of them. Grabbing his shoulders she shakes him roughly, begging him to open his eyes. He moans, stirring slightly but does not awaken. Drawing her hand back in desperation she slaps him as hard as she can across his whiskered cheek._

 _She still feels the sting of it on her palm when she looks up to see a beautiful lake spread out in front of her – in front of them. The sirens are replaced by a constant birdsong and occasional quack from a family of nearby ducks. The heat she feels through her scrubs is coming from the large flat rock they are sitting upon, not the red hot flames of fire. She stares at a huge weeping willow overlooking an interesting rock formation on the bank of the serene lake. Feeling somewhat disjointed, she looks over at Rick Grimes sitting next to her. He's wearing a white tee shirt tucked into brown uniform pants with a stripe down the legs over well-worn cowboy boots. He returns her gaze and she is amazed at how incredibly blue his eyes are in the sunlight._

" _Where are we?" she asks quietly, not wanting to disturb the perfect peace of nature and risk getting thrown back into a burning building in another blink of a confused eye._

" _This is my favorite place in the world," he responds, smiling at her as if he's letting her in on a special secret._

" _Why?" she asks._

" _So we could talk. Isn't that what you wanted?"_

" _Yes. Rick, you have to wake up. You have to come with me, you're not safe!" she implores._

" _I don't want to. Why can't we just stay here? I like it here." He takes her hand in his as he looks out over the lake._

" _I know but we don't belong here. Not now, not yet. You've got to wake up, honey! You're in terrible dange…"_

She opens her eyes in the gloomy tent, heart pounding and palm stinging as she looks up toward the nylon ceiling, the handsome face of wounded police officer Rick Grimes smiling back at her. She blinks once, twice, and the image is gone. She closes her eyes again to bring him back and feels a band of warmth settle over her left hand while the burning in her right palm begins to fade. It's nearly an hour before she is breathing easy again.

* * *

As the camp comes to life at the first rays of sunlight, Erin sits with Kelly and Carl as he rummages through one of the grocery bags she told him to retrieve from her car. He pulls out a box of Honey Comb cereal and looks at Erin for approval. "Go for it," she tells him, happy to put a smile on his face.

"For lunch we could try to catch some fish down there." Daryl waves his arm toward the lake at the bottom of the quarry as he comes up behind the boy. "They won't be big but we shouldn't have any problem catching a bunch."

"Me and my dad caught the biggest fish ever," Carl informs him as he lifts his chin to look up at the redneck hunter.

"Oh yeah? What kind was it little man?" Daryl glances at Erin and Kelly and then looks back at the boy, clearly more comfortable with the child than with the women.

"It was a catfish and it was huuuge!" Carl spreads his arms wide before reaching into the pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a small faux leather wallet, flips it open and hands it to Daryl. "Look at that!"

Erin watches Carl smile proudly as Daryl whistles through his teeth, clearly impressed.

"Very nice, little man." He hands the wallet back to the boy who suddenly has a look of pure misery on his young face.

Seeing the sadness take over his features, Erin quickly stands up as Kelly turns her head to hide her own tears. "Hey can I see that too, Carl? How big did you say that fish was?"

With his head down, he holds his arms to the sides but without the enthusiasm and joy he had displayed earlier. She takes his wrists and stretches them further. "You mean it was this big, right? Isn't that what you told Daryl?" He nods his head and she pulls his arms even farther, eliciting a small chuckle around a cheerful groan before she quickly lets go of his wrists to stick her fingers into his open armpits. He screeches as she tickles him mercilessly for a moment before she pulls him into a tight embrace, leaning down to speak quietly into his ear, "Don't short-change your father. Keep those arms wide and he'll always be inside them."

She bends down to pick up the wallet he had dropped during the tickle torture. Flipping it open, her breath catches as the fine hairs on the nape of her neck stand at attention. "My God," she whispers, mesmerized by the photo of a younger Carl holding a catfish nearly as long as himself, standing next to the officer who was shot two weeks ago; the cop who smiled at her on a stressful Easter morning - and the man who spoke to her in a very vivid dream last night as they sat in front of a pretty lake with a big willow tree… overlooking the same interesting rock formation behind the two fishermen in the photo.


	4. Chapter 4

**Many thanks to all those who took the time to leave a review - especially to Ariel and Emma for your helpful insight! I will try my best to update this story at least once a week so I don't leave you hanging for too long.  
**

 **Let me know what you think...  
**

* * *

Chapter Four

He's so tired that all he wants to do is sleep. Rick knows there is work to be done, always work to be done, but he just doesn't have the energy to get his body moving. It hurts - a lot. A throbbing ache pulses in the side of his chest reminding him why he wants to stay asleep. He keeps his eyes closed. He thinks of Carl and reconsiders opening his eyes. His body won't move. He decides to sleep just a little bit longer. Someone yells at him - a woman. She's scared. He opens his eyes at his grandfather's cabin. The pretty redheaded nurse is there with him. It feels so real, yet not entirely tethered to reality as she urges him to wake up…

All alone in a hospital in the devastated city of Atlanta, Officer Rick Grimes opens his eyes to a real nightmare.

* * *

It's been one week since he woke up in a world very different from the one he'd closed his eyes to nearly a month ago. Seven painful days of wondering if his family is okay and where they may be while he recuperates from his injury.

Finally feeling close to healthy enough to face the walker-infested world, he heads out toward Woodland, believing that Shane would have taken them to his grandpa's cabin just a few hours away. _Please, God._

Rick steers the police car down the quiet country road, avoiding major highways like Morgan had suggested. Though his wound is healing better with fresh bandages, he still tires quickly and prays he doesn't run into too much trouble. He knows that if Morgan Jones and his son Duane hadn't found him that first day he'd woken up - he'd already be dead.

Glancing down at the walkie-talkie lying on the empty passenger seat, Rick fights the urge to pick it up to contact his friend. They had promised to turn them on each day at dawn to stay in touch. He just hopes the connection will work come morning. Either way, he expects to see Morgan again in a week or so when he and Duane come to the cabin themselves. His friend just needed a little more time before leaving the small house in King County; time to exorcise some personal demons.

Ignoring the temptation to check on Morgan, Rick pulls the cruiser into the parking lot of a CVS store in Adamsville, hoping to scavenge some supplies.

* * *

A warm breeze drifts through the camp enticing Erin with the smell of hot coffee as she pours water into the dog bowl. Nikki laps at the stream as it flows from the bottle. "Hang on buddy, you have absolutely no patience." She thinks of all the times Tim had said that to the Husky and feels a twinge of regret that she has his dog. Assuming that he is okay in Nashville, she imagines how much he must be missing his beloved pet. She does feel bad about that but she is extremely grateful to have Nikki with her. The big dog brings a sense of security to the camp with his sharp nose and protective nature while his playful spirit brightens the long uncertain days.

Along with Carl, Daryl has created a very strong bond with the animal over the last two weeks, spending a lot of time with Nikki and teaching him how to hunt. They've become a great team and have kept the group fed with squirrels and rabbits while the redneck vows to get them a deer one of these days.

Glenn supplements Daryl's kills with frequent runs to nearby towns. He'd stopped going into the city after the first week, reporting it to be completely overrun with the undead walkers and way too dangerous to navigate. Today he's got Merle with him to check out a small town not too far away.

Erin suspects the only reason Merle wanted to go with Glenn is to look for drugs. She's seen enough patients come into the hospital high on all kinds of narcotics and she has recognized the same glassy-eyed expression on Merle's face many times since they'd met. He's been more ornery than usual the last two days so she figures he must have used up his stash. She just hopes he doesn't give Glenn too much trouble on the run - God knows the young Asian guy doesn't deserve it. She actually believes that if it weren't for Daryl being his brother – Merle would have been kicked out of the camp days ago. Shane has almost come to blows with him several times but always backs down knowing that they need Daryl's hunting skills if they want to survive out here.

Pouring herself a cup of black coffee, which she doesn't think she'll ever get used to but is desperate for the caffeine, she takes a seat in front of the fire pit next to Carol. She sees Ed smoking a cigarette in front of their tent, watching over everything as usual. He doesn't do much around camp other than observe what everybody else is doing. He seems suspicious of everyone and everything around him and Erin can't figure out how Carol ever ended up with a guy like that. Maybe he wasn't always this bad but she has seen Carol cower in front of him on more than one occasion which makes Erin believe it is an abusive relationship. Unfortunately, she has seen enough of those cases in the hospital as well.

She thinks of Tim occasionally but is a little surprised that she doesn't miss him more. She'd thought of him a lot during the first couple of days after the outbreak, then less and less as she settled into camp life survival mode. She hopes he is surviving okay with his aunt and uncle in Tennessee, but worries more about her parents and her sister. She's coming to accept the fact that she will probably never see them again, but she refuses to believe they are dead. She just pictures them surviving in their own little pocket of civilization in their corner of what's left of this Godforsaken world.

Although Shane believes that the government is working to set up refugee shelters to save them all, Erin isn't convinced that they will be rescued any time soon. Not after hearing the stories that Glenn comes back with from his excursions; stories which seem to get worse and worse each day.

* * *

"Goddammit, Merle! We gotta go! I told you not to open that fucking door!" Glenn grabs a handful of Merle's vest as three more walkers come out of the stockroom of the CVS Pharmacy.

"Don't get your panties in a knot, Chinaman, we can handle these pussies. I gotta get into that room!" Merle argues as he backpedals with his knife raised, ready to dispatch the walkers blocking his path to the stockroom. He stumbles once and Glenn grabs him roughly, shoving him toward the front entrance to safety.

"Go, go, go!" Glenn yells, sensing the band of walkers getting closer to his back as he follows the frustrating redneck up the center aisle. He is right on Merle's heels as the man reaches for the front door handle only to have it pulled away from him. The door opens wide and they tear out of the store, running past a tall brown figure.

"Shut the door! Shut the door!" Glenn yells at the man holding the door, just as he feels a strong tug on the back of his shirt. "Aahhh!" An extremely loud crack deafens him momentarily as he feels what is most likely walker brain matter dampen the back of his neck. He hits the ground with a frightening heaviness falling on top of him. Another loud crack and then a hand is curling around his arm and pulling him out from beneath the now twice-dead walker.

Glenn looks up as a man in a brown King County sheriff's uniform shoves a third walker back just before firing a bullet into its malfunctioning brain. The decomposing middle-aged woman falls in the doorway, blessedly slowing the ones coming behind it.

"Let's go!" Glenn yells as he pulls the officer toward their car with Merle already in the driver's seat and about to pull away. He sees the man glance toward the patrol car on the other side of the lot where another group of undead are staggering past it to converge with the walkers coming out of the store, coming toward them. "Forget it!" he yells, yanking the brown sleeve of the man's uniform.

Glenn jumps into the front passenger seat as the officer leaps into the back, barely getting his foot off the asphalt before the car speeds out of the lot.

"Woo hoo! Well that was a helluva rodeo! What d'ya say, sheriff?" Merle laughs as he presses down on the gas, leaving the infested store safely behind them.

Glenn turns in his seat to face the new guy. The man leans his head back on the hot vinyl upholstery, breathing heavily and sweating profusely.

"Fuck," the sheriff mutters, holding his left side with a wince.

I agree," the redneck driver answers. "That place was a total bust."

"Hey," Glenn says into the back seat. "Thanks for saving me back there. I'm Glenn. This asshole who almost got me killed is Merle."

The officer nods his head in a tired greeting. "Rick. Rick Grimes."

* * *

Erin rolls her eyes as she watches Andrea pull Shane's clothes off the line, fold them meticulously and carry them over to the small tent he shares with T-Dog. She wants to ask the blonde woman why she didn't take T-Dog's shirts as well but she lets it go, reining her temper as she continues to help Kelly fold the rest of the clothes from yesterday's laundry.

"Could she be a little more obvious, you think?" Kelly says, echoing Erin's own thoughts about the way Andrea fawns over Shane.

"I know, right? If she sticks her chest out any further she's going to fall over backward." Erin replies.

Kelly pulls Glenn's jeans off the line and gives Erin a pointed look. "The problem is that _her_ boobs aren't the ones he really wants though."

"Well he's not getting these so he may as well take hers."

"Why don't you like him, Erin? He's not a bad guy."

"I never said that I didn't like him, I just have no intention of showing him my boobs, or any other part of my anatomy for that matter," Erin responds as she folds a small tee shirt with a large paw print and adds it to the pile of Carl's clothes on the table. "The only reason he wants me is because I don't want him. I'm a challenge, and like a typical egomaniac - he just can't walk away."

"Oh, so Andrea should just ignore him like you do and he'll be all over her?"

"Exactly. You should go tell her that. And then if he still doesn't want her – at least she would have better posture." Erin pulls her shoulders back dramatically to lift her chest.

"Cut it out, she's coming back," Kelly says behind the hand covering her laughter.

"Great. Here's your chance to tell her before she offers to give him a sponge bath."

"No thanks. She's all yours." Kelly picks up a large pile of clothes and Erin watches her carry it into their tent.

"Chicken!"

* * *

"So where are we going?" Rick asks, a little uncertain about the redneck driving the car.

"We've got a camp set up not far from here." Glenn informs him. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

"The hell?" Merle glares at Glenn, clearly not happy about the invitation.

Rick ignores the comment, and the attitude. "Thanks, but I've got to find my family."

"Where are they?" Glenn asks.

"Woodland, I think." _God, I hope._

"You won't be able to take Fairburn much farther. There's a huge snarl with a helicopter blocking the whole road just south of Horseshoe," Glenn tells him. "You can jump on Cascade over to Childress to get around it."

"That's fine except for one problem. We left my car back there."

"Don't worry, I'll bring you back in a day or two," Glenn offers. "It should be clear by then."

Fifteen minutes later they pull up behind a row of cars parked near the woods at the top of an old quarry. "Come on, Rick, I'll introduce you to everyone." Glenn tells him as he slowly climbs out of the car.

Rick sees several small clusters of people spread out among tents, small tables and an array of chairs all within a border of strung up cans encircling the campsite. _Clever._ Thirteen heads look up to welcome them but two faces shine brighter than the rest. "Oh, my God," he breathes as his precious son rushes toward him with his Aunt right behind. His knees almost give out as he crushes them to his chest, his heart pounding and his throat clogging on a brick of overwhelming emotion. He can't keep the tears from falling as the three of them cling to each other, crying and struggling to find words that are impossible to form. _Thank God, thank God, thank God!_

Carl smells pretty bad but he has never felt so good and Rick tightens his hold, squeezing his son's ribs a little too hard until the boy grunts in elated pain. Rick loosens his arm fractionally at the sound and sees Shane over Kelly's trembling shoulder. He gives his partner a heartfelt nod. _Thank you._

Shane grins back at him, returning the nod while the pretty redhead to his right smiles softly with tears shimmering brightly in her own warm eyes, watching him with an expression that can only be described as shockingly joyous bewilderment.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Thanks so much for all the reviews! You guys are the best! Keep 'em coming please :)**

 **Looking forward to the upcoming marathon and the season 7 premier! Finally! Though at the same time I am seriously dreading it. At least I know my sexy sheriff is safe. Until we see him again with his beautiful silvery beard, here's the latest with his baby face...  
**

* * *

Chapter Five

 _It's him! My God, it's really him._ Erin stares in wondrous disbelief at the man who is fiercely holding onto Carl and Kelly with tears streaming down his smiling cheeks. She wipes her own eyes as more group members come up to watch the emotional reunion. Shifting on unsteady legs, she is grateful that she had already been standing by the cars when they'd arrived - she never would have made it across the camp otherwise, especially with the way the flutter in her belly had swooned into a dead faint.

 _How is this happening?_ Though it had been two weeks since she'd dreamt of sitting with Rick at his grandfather's lake, she woke up most mornings with him in her thoughts. Nothing profound or even slightly meaningful – he's just there, bright blue eyes and quiet strength, with her for a few moments before she shakes the sleepy cobwebs from her mind. Now the fact that he is standing only ten feet away feels like a dream itself. The only difference with this surreal reality is that he's wearing his uniform shirt, half unbuttoned, over the white tee he'd been wearing at the lake. _Sweet baby Jesus, he looks good._

* * *

Rick looks at all the people that have gathered around them, searching for one particular face. "Where's your mom?" He asks Carl and sees the boy's face crumble before he buries his head against Rick's neck. He looks at his sister who shakes her head sadly.

Taking a step back, Kelly puts a comforting hand on Carl's shoulder. "She's gone, Rick," she answers softly.

"Oh, buddy. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He hugs Carl tighter as the boy burrows into his neck, fresh tears flowing down his cheeks. "I'm here, I've got you," he soothes.

"Rick, what _happened_?" his sister asks. " _How_ are you here?"

"I don't know, Kel." He takes a few steps toward Shane. "All I remember is being in an ambulance one minute and then waking up in the hospital which looked like a war had blown through it. It was very disorienting, to put it mildly."

"I tried to get to you, man, but I couldn't." Shane tells him, voice tinged with shades of regret. "I swear I tried."

Rick nods his head slightly. "I'm just grateful that you got Carl and Kelly out. That means everything," he replies sincerely. "I can't thank you enough."

"How on earth did you find us?" Kelly asks, standing close to his side as he shifts Carl slightly within his arms.

"Not long after I woke up I ran into a man named Morgan and his son. They took care of me, explained everything," he says pensively, remembering that first night sitting in the candlelit room and learning that life as he knew it was irrevocably over. "I left them this morning to head down to the cabin, figured that's where you'd be. I stopped in Adamsville and ran into Glenn and Merle. I never would have found you if they hadn't been there." He scratches at the stitches just below his chest, irritated again after the little skirmish with the walkers.

"How're you feeling?" Shane asks. "You took a helluva shot, man. Maybe you should have Erin look at it. She's a nurse."

Rick watches Shane drape an arm across the redhead's shoulders proudly, possessively. His blue eyes meet her green ones and he is struck by a strong feeling of déjà vu, a fleeting image of burgundy nursing scrubs. "Uh, yeah," he stammers slightly. "It itches like hell but other than that it feels okay. It would be nice to get these stitches out though."

The woman looks down and steps out from beneath Shane's arm. "Sure, I can help you with that," she tells him warmly, sniffling through a smile.

He regards her closely and has to consciously keep his hand from reaching out to console her, to touch her just to know that she's alright. "Are you okay?" he asks, unable to explain the deep concern he feels, yet unable to ignore it.

"I'm fine." She laughs softly; a beautiful sound that caresses his soul. "It's just… really nice to meet Carl's father."

* * *

Thankful that she and Glenn had found a decent amount of medical supplies at the health center last week, Erin opens the well-stocked first aid kit and retrieves the forceps and surgical scissors. She places them on top of a small pink towel on the dirty tailgate of Daryl's pickup truck.

If they can't work in a lighted operatory, she is at least grateful for the bright sunlight shining down on her makeshift clinic. She is even more grateful that her hands have finally stopped trembling.

Her bare-chested patient sits next to her supplies, his left arm folded behind his head while his right arm supports his weight as he leans back at a slight angle. He smells like woods, musk and man and it is a tremendous effort to focus on her task as her hip brushes against his knee. Taking a deep breath, she reaches toward the upper quadrant of his abdomen. "Ready?" she asks him, two fingers working the corner of the square white bandage that covers the site.

"Yeah. On three, just do it qui-, ow!"

"Sorry, sneak attack is usually the best way to go with this kind of sticky bandage."

"Shit, that hurt." He whistles through his teeth. "Sorry, I'll put my balls back on now."

She laughs, enjoying his easygoing nature and sense of humor. "Yeah, it's time to nut up, as Merle would say. God, I can't believe I'm quoting Merle Douchebag Dixon now. This really is the end of the world."

He smiles at her as she reaches for her instruments. "What's his story anyway?" he asks.

"Just your everyday backwoods racist, chauvinistic, lecherous, drug addict. A real peach," she replies with a sarcastic smile.

"I guess you can't just kick him out, huh?"

"We'd love to but he came with his brother, Daryl, who is a real asset to the group. Unfortunately it's a package deal so we put up with Merle."

"Everyone else gets along alright? You've got quite a big group here."

"For the most part. I mean, in stressful situations – which you can't get much more stressful than this – people are going to have their issues. But we've gotten used to working and living together fairly well.

"Okay," she says, lifting her hands to his body. "Patients usually only feel a little pinch when taking stitches out, but these have been in there for a long time so it may be a little worse."

"It's okay. Just no more sneak attacks," he says with a smirk.

"No, I'll go slowly with these. Just hold still." She carefully cuts a suture beneath its knot and pulls it away gently with the forceps, tugging the skin slightly with it.

He hisses through the pain but doesn't flinch. "What about that guy there?" His blue eyes motion toward the man standing under an oak tree about forty feet away, cigarette in hand and scowl in place as he watches their proceedings from a distance.

Erin glances over as Ed Peletier takes a long drag on his cigarette. "That's Ed. He's our other peach. He's married to Carol, the woman with the short gray hair." She looks toward the campsite and spots her friend. "She's sitting at the table there with their daughter, Sophia."

"That's Carl's little friend, right?" he asks.

"Yeah," she answers, looking up to meet his eyes. "I worry about her and her mom."

"He abuses them?"

"Not publicly, but yeah – behind closed doors I think he does. I tried talking to her about it once, but she just walked away and ignored me for two days."

"Well, we'll keep an eye on them. And if you ever do see him hurting her, do not get involved. You come find me or Shane and we'll take care of it. Just stay away from that guy, okay?"

"It's a little difficult when we're living in tents less than twenty feet from each other," she answers stubbornly and it feels like the most natural thing in the world, as if this is just one of many conversations they've shared.

"Erin, I'm serious." Something in his tone makes her look up and she sees a spark of darkness harden his eyes. "Stay away from him," he adds in a gentler, almost pleading voice that immediately softens his expression.

"Fine. But you guys better be there to protect them," she replies and then lowers her gaze back to his chest.

"We will be, don't worry." He tenses up as she starts pulling at the next suture. "So, you and Shane, huh? Ouch!"

"Sorry," she apologizes for pulling a little too hard at the mention of herself and Shane together. She places the cut suture on the towel and moves onto the next one, more gently. "No, there is no Shane and I and there never will be."

"Sorry, I just thought… the way he had his arm around you before."

"Yeah, that was for your benefit - he was marking his territory." She pulls the third suture out. "I guess I should be grateful that he didn't pee on me."

"Well that's not usually his style," he says, laughing despite the pain he must be feeling as she grips another stitch. "So, you're not with him then?"

She drops the suture onto the towel with the other snippets and looks back up to him. "Despite his display earlier – no, I'm not," she replies adamantly.

"Wow. I think you're the first woman who's ever turned him down."

"Exactly, which is why he won't let up." She goes back to remove the next suture.

"Well, that and the fact that you're beautiful and intelligent," he says absently before cursing in pain as the next suture is removed. "Despite the fact that you like inflicting pain. Christ, that hurt."

"I'm sorry. I'm not _trying_ to hurt you, Rick, I swear." She holds her laughter but can't help smiling at his words.

"I know, let's just get this over with. How many more are there?"

"Looks like seven."

"Fuck," he groans.

She hesitates for just a moment, and then gives him a sly grin. "And then we'll do your back."

He groans even deeper. "Shit, maybe we'll just leave those in," he says, rolling his shoulders as if trying to alleviate a sore muscle. "Sorry. I know. I'm nutting up now. So, fill me in on everyone else at camp."

"Well, Kelly and Carl you already know. He's a great kid, by the way. You've done a really good job with him."

"Thanks. That means more than you know," he says sincerely.

"And now that you're back, Shane won't be his primary role model, thank God."

"He's really not that bad, Erin."

"You sound just like your sister. Look, I don't know what he was like before the world went to hell, but where most of us are scared shitless day and night, he's not just surviving – he's thriving. This is his day in the sun, like he's waited his whole life for this. That can't be healthy."

"Fine, I'll keep an eye on him too," he says and she notices him looking over and taking in the expanse of the campsite where most of the people are busy with various tasks, his own son included as he helps Kelly set up another air mattress in their tent. "You've got quite a set up here."

"Yeah, we had a couple of tents to start and then Glenn and T-Dog raided a Cabela's and a Target to scrounge up a few larger ones along with folding cots, air mattresses, sleeping bags, blankets and pillows. If this wasn't turning into a permanent home with a shortage of food and danger lurking around the corner, it would actually be a pretty nice campout," she finishes with a smile. "Oh, we've also got a decent supply of assorted clothes filling up Andrea's car. Help yourself to whatever you need."

He nods his head in appreciation. "That's great, thanks. So where did you live before all this?" he asks, lifting his chin in the direction of the tents.

"I grew up in Chestnut Ridge, New York and then went to school down here at Emory. Now I have - or had anyway - a townhouse in Sandy Springs."

"Sandy Springs? Damn, you must be a hell of a nurse to afford a place up there."

"I am." She gives him a cheeky grin.

"That's debatable!" He laughs. "I'll let you know when we're finished."

"I am good!" she defends herself, delighting in their easy banter. "But getting a three million dollar inheritance gift from a patient really helped."

"What? Three million?" He whistles, clearly impressed at the number. "How the hell did you manage that?"

She gently tugs at another knot, eliciting a soft hiss from him while a streak of perspiration drips down the back of her neck. The stifling heat of the unusually hot Spring day weighs thick and oppressive on her back but the solid warmth of his knee against her hip provides a strange source of comfort as she begins to tell him her story.

"During my first year out of school, this old guy came into the E.R. with congestive heart failure. After fighting lung cancer for nearly a year, he was in bad shape but he hung on for another two months. He was a stubborn old bastard but I liked him immediately, probably because he reminded me of my grandfather and I was going through one of my bouts of feeling homesick." She tamps down a stronger feeling of homesickness that suddenly clogs her throat.

"Anyway, he had two sons who lived within a couple of hours of the hospital but never came to see him until the very end. He would talk about them with pride, telling me how hard they worked and what fine men they had grown up to be, but I knew it hurt him a lot that they didn't visit. So every day after my shift ended I would sit with him for a couple of hours before going home. We played chess for the first few weeks and then started a game of Risk. It took us almost a month to get through that game." She smiles at the memory of Joe yelling at the hospital staff to be careful around the table that held the game board with the miniscule soldiers, horses and canons spread about the continents.

"Who won the game?" Rick asks softly, caught up in the story.

"He did, of course, but I kept it close up until the end. I made a valiant effort." She smiles proudly.

"I'm sure you did," he responds warmly. "Nice job."

Erin nods her thanks as she looks up into his striking blue eyes, a lump forming in her throat once again. "He passed away two days later."

"And left you three million dollars."

"I had no idea he was filthy rich until I got a letter a few months later. I wasn't going to keep any of it but the note that came with it made me reconsider. He said I had become the daughter he never had and he needed to know that all three of his children were taken care of. He knew that I lived in a not-so-great part of town which always worried him. Every day he'd ask 'Did you get out of that shithole yet?'" she mimics in a deep voice. She swallows the growing lump and continues, "So I kept enough to buy my townhouse and a nice car and gave the rest to the American Cancer Association. His sons each inherited over 35 million so I didn't feel like I was forcing them to live in squalor if I accepted the money."

"And they didn't contest it?"

"No, they were actually really good about it. Said they appreciated the time I'd spent with their father and wanted me to have the money. I definitely wouldn't have taken it otherwise," she says, shaking her head to convey her point. "But had I known he was a stinking rich tycoon I never would have let him win the game either," she finishes, laughter dancing in her eyes.

"Yes you would have," he responds sincerely. "You really are a hell of a nurse. So what made you decide to become one?"

She looks down at the instruments forgotten in her hands, debating exactly how much to tell him. Looking back up into his handsome face with those cerulean eyes, she peers into the window of a soul that makes her feel safe, really safe, for the first time in weeks. She decides to tell him everything.

"There was a fifteen year old girl diagnosed with leukemia and given six months to live. She was so angry and frustrated, mad at the world and the man who had created it. She was too angry to even consider treatment, thinking it was just a painful waste of time. So she just gave up, laid in bed feeling bitterly sorry for herself that she'd never learn to drive a car or go to the prom. Then she met a nurse named Mary that didn't coddle or pity her. Told her it was her choice to either fight or check out - but don't waste their time or bed space. Said she could hook her up to the morphine drip and it could all be over."

"Jesus. What happened to the girl?" he asks.

"She learned to drive at the age of eighteen, went to the prom with a cute boy who had more hair than she did, eventually went on to nursing school and now lives with a group of people surviving on the edge of an old quarry while the world drifts closer to hell every day." She smiles with a shrug as she lets her words sink in.

"Oh my God." His eyes widen as he realizes who she is talking about. His left arm slowly lowers to rest his fist on the tailgate and she backs up slightly as he leans forward. "Do you need medication? Maybe we can find a hospital that hasn't been overrun," he says quickly, sounding deeply concerned.

"No, it's fine. But thanks. I've actually been in remission for four years now."

"So what if it comes back?"

"Without the use of modern medicine to test bloodwork, I won't know it's back until I feel symptoms. By that time any kind of treatment would probably be too late. I'm not really worried about it though – odds are more likely that I'll be killed by a walker before the cancer gets a second shot to do me in, right?" she says with a pragmatic smirk.

The tired look on his face carries a strange fusion of fear, frustration and respect, which causes her to look down again at the stilled forceps in her hand. "Anyway, that's why I became a nurse – paying it forward, I guess. I wouldn't be here if not for Mary. She made me want to fight and stuck with me through all my treatments. I figured maybe I could do the same for somebody else." She lifts her chin to catch his gaze again. "So what about you? Why did you become a cop? Wanted to save the world, or you just liked the uniform?"

"Yeah," he replies with a smirk. "I loved that hat – I'm sorry I left it in the patrol car. But the truth is… I liked the guns and the idea of having a license to kick some lowlife ass once in a while."

"Nice," she laughs.

"Seriously though, my stepdad Ray was a cop. I went through a rough period for a while when I was fourteen. My father was a miserable person and a mean drunk but I was devastated when he left us. I got into fights, hung out with the wrong crowd, drank a lot," he admits, a touch of regret lacing his voice. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, right?" he adds, rolling his eyes in self-contempt.

The need to comfort him weighs heavily on her heart but Erin isn't aware of moving her arm until she feels the warm polyester of his uniform pants beneath her fingers. With a loose fist resting just above his knee, she tries to envision a troubled teenage Rick as he continues the story.

"I was angry at my mom for letting him go, which was stupid because he was never around anyway and it wasn't her fault, but I didn't see that at the time. I also didn't find out 'til much later that he was abusing her," he says softly, looking down as he picks at a small clump of dirt embedded in the truck. "She hid it well, from all of us."

Erin's heart breaks for the younger version of this man and his less than stellar childhood. Unwarranted feelings of helpless guilt are still evident in his eyes as he looks up at her once again.

"Anyway, Ray picked me up one night with some derelict friends of mine; it was my fifteenth birthday and I got caught shoplifting some beer for our little celebration. He brought me home and told me to stay out of trouble. He brought me home again the next month and once more after that. God, I can't believe what I put my mother through back then," he says, stark remorse filling his voice. "But Ray took me under his wing, became the father figure I never had and straightened me out. A couple years later he married my mom and got Shane and me into the police academy," he finishes, straightening his shoulders proudly.

"And the rest, they say, is history," she says with a bright smile that he returns, warming her heart.

"Alright, Red" he lifts his arm back behind his head. "Let's get this over with already or I'm gonna have a nasty sunburn to take my mind off the pain you've inflicted on me," he says with a wink which makes her little flutter grin madly in the pit of her belly.

She smiles at his teasing. "As you wish." The sunlight gleams off of the scissors as she lifts her hands up to his body once again, her heart feeling both heavy and light after all that they had shared.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Sitting with Carl in the late afternoon, Rick listens to tales of his young son's life during the last month. He thoroughly enjoys every word, even when Carl complains about how unfair it is that Kelly makes him read and do math problems every day.

"Come on, Dad. School only ended one week early due to the virus so it would officially be the summer break now anyway," Carl says, lifting his foot to thwart the mount of a curious spider.

"Doesn't matter," Rick answers. "New world, new rules." Sitting on a pair of camp chairs next to the neatly stacked pile of firewood that he and Carl had just replenished, he glances across the campsite to see Shane bark orders to his minions while Ed and Merle sit lazily in front of their tents. S _he was right_.

When Erin comes out of the camper, Carl's voice drifts away like a receding tide as Rick's eyes take full control of his five senses. He watches her cross to the fire pit with an armload of pasta boxes and a smile on her pretty face as she says something to Sophia on her way. The jeans hugging her curves are as tight as her hair is loose, the auburn curls swaying behind her head in a messy pony tail.

She leans down to adjust the kindling beneath the large pot suspended on the tripod straddling the fire. Sticks in place, she stands again and wipes a finger against her cheekbone before brushing a fist across her forehead, staring at the lighter in T-Dog's hand as the man reaches down to ignite the wood.

Did he think she was pretty before? Now, with a dark smudge of soot decorating her cheek and her brows drawn together in contemplation, she is absolutely beautiful.

He had really enjoyed their conversation earlier - other than the painful parts when she was ripping his skin off - and was truly amazed at everything they had revealed to each other in such a short time. They had fallen into a comfortable rapport very quickly and it felt natural to speak so freely about himself, something he rarely does. Watching her now, he looks forward to sharing more stories with her in the future.

When Shane and Kelly join them at the slowly spreading fire, Rick's gut hardens when his best friend touches a hand to Erin's shoulder as he asks her a question. Though he didn't let it linger for long, it was still too much for Rick's liking. _Back off, Shane!_ She's too good for you, he thinks and is surprised to feel his fist in a tight clench. _Hell, she's way too good for me too. And if I can't have her, at least I can protect her._

He relaxes his fingers, releasing his grip on the sudden desire stirring inside him; the irrational desire to throw Shane over the ledge and into the quarry four-hundred feet below, and the fiery desire to throw Erin over his shoulder and take her into that camper like a God damned caveman.

He shifts in his seat as a slight ache in his balls reminds him that he hasn't had sex in over two years. Until now, he hadn't missed it all that much – or rather, he hadn't missed the strings that went along with having a sex life. He wasn't lying to Shane that day in the hospital when he'd told his friend that he'd rather spend his time with his son.

His back straightens as a sharp surge of neurons electrifies his spine for a fraction of a heartbeat. Looking at Erin now, the emergency room of Northside Hospital jumps to the forefront of his mind, then disappears a split second later leaving him to wonder where the image had come from, and why the connection feels vaguely important. Before he can dissect the idea, Carl's voice breaks into his thoughts, pulling him out of the shadowy corner of his mind.

"Did you hear me, Dad?"

Rick turns his attention back to his son while Erin lifts a bottle of spring water to her lips. It takes a tremendous effort to keep his focus away from those lips. "Sorry, bud. What were you saying?"

"I said maybe we can take Dale's boat out tomorrow and go fishing."

"Sure, if he doesn't mind."

Before Rick finishes his sentence, Carl pops up from his seat and runs up the small slope toward the camper. The boy looks up to the man sitting on a lawn chair perched on the roof of the Winnebago, peering out from beneath his favorite hat to keep an eye out for the threat of walkers. "Dale, can me and my dad use your boat tomorrow?" Carl asks the elderly man.

"Only if you promise to catch some big fish for us," Dale responds.

"We will. My dad's a great fisherman!"

"I know. I saw that picture of yours. Good luck finding something that big in this lake." He grins, nodding respectfully at Rick.

Rick waves his hand in a brief acknowledgment. He really likes the old guy, recognizing his strong sense of integrity and morals. The world needs that now more than ever.

Turning quickly at the sound of a breaking stick, Rick sees Daryl walk out of the forest behind the woodpile. With his crossbow slung over one broad shoulder and a string of squirrels in the other hand, the hunter nods at Rick briefly as he strides toward the table he uses to dress his kills. The husky trots after him.

"Hey, Daryl! Me and my dad are taking Dale's boat out tomorrow." Rick watches his son walk a few paces with the quiet man, his freckled face beaming with excitement and pride – a complete contrast to the reticent stature of the hunter.

The redneck stops, looking back at Rick for a moment before looking down at the boy again. "That's cool, little man. Remember that dark patch I told you about? That's where you should take your old man."

"Okay," Carl responds brightly. "Can I watch you skin the squirrels again?"

Daryl looks at the sheriff for approval before answering the boy.

"It's fine with me if you don't mind," Rick tells him amiably.

"Nah, it's okay. I don't mind him," he says to the ground in front of Rick's boots.

"Hey, Daryl…," Rick says as the man turns back toward his destination. When the hunter turns again to face Rick, the sheriff continues, "Thanks for keeping my family fed out here. Really," he says sincerely.

"No problem," the hunter answers, meeting Rick's eyes for the briefest of moments before walking away.

* * *

With their bellies not entirely stuffed but full enough from dinner to keep the hunger pangs away until morning, the majority of the group relaxes around the campfire as the crickets sing from the darkness of the woods surrounding them.

Carl pokes a long stick in between the rocks circling the fire, testing how far his father will let him reach. It doesn't take long before Rick places a stern hand on his shoulder, signaling it was far enough. The boy looks up at his dad from his tree stump seat situated between Rick and Erin's lawn chairs.

Ed's raised voice reaches their circle as the man yells at his wife and daughter from inside their tent about thirty feet away. Erin hears it at the same time Rick does and tilts her head at him with raised eyebrows. _I told you._

He nods at her briefly over Carl's head, acknowledging the disturbance _. I hear them._

She tilts her head forward as her eyes widen with purpose, demanding and accusatory. _Do something!_

His brows draw together, nodding once at her, sharply. _I will, settle down._

She makes a move to stand and he rises quickly, shaking his head at her and then angling his chin at her chair. _No, you stay here._

She nods in acceptance and settles back into her seat. _Fine._

"Well, that was the strangest conversation I _n_ _ever_ had." Rick shakes his head slowly, giving Erin a tight smirk.

She grins back at him, appreciating their wordless exchange.

As Rick takes a step toward the arguing voices, Shane stands from his seat across the fire pit and holds a palm up to him. "I got this." Rick watches Shane throw another small log onto the dying fire and walks over to the Peletier's tent.

"Everything alright in there, Carol?" Shane asks, standing just outside the zippered flap as looming shadows shift upon the nylon walls from the illuminated lantern inside.

"This don't concern y'all." Ed's deep voice responds irritably and Rick tenses, still standing and ready to back up his old partner if necessary.

"We're fine, Shane. I just spilled something," the woman's voice calls out quickly. "Have a good night," she says cheerfully enough, sounding perfectly calm despite the obvious argument.

"You just let me know if you need anything, Carol," Shane replies. "Okay?"

"I will, thank you. Goodnight," she says abruptly, dismissing him.

Shane returns to his seat with a shake of his head. "She says they're fine. Nothing I can do."

Rick looks at Erin and raises his brows as he lifts a shoulder. _That's that._ She answers with a smirk that tells him that she doesn't believe Carol was being honest. Neither does he actually but he's not going to push it tonight. "I'll keep an eye on them," he tells her quietly, reinforcing the promise with a nod of his head.

"Thank you."

The smile she gives him makes him want to give her the world.

They settle back into comfortable conversation as the band of survivors talk quietly around the campfire while the Dixon brother's keep watch from the roof of the RV. Rick listens for more sounds from the Peletiers, though less obvious about it than the redhead. Every few minutes he sees Erin cock her ear toward their tent, listening for sounds of distress from her friend. But the family remains quiet as the fire burns low.

Rick catches his son trying to stifle yet another yawn and his heart swells, unbelievably grateful that he is actually there to see it. _Thank you, God – or whoever else is running this show_. He's about to tell Carl to go to bed when his sister takes the wheel.

"I think it's time for you to go to bed young man," Kelly says to Carl from her chair on Shane's right.

When the boy begins to protest, Rick drapes his arm across his son's thin shoulders. "I'll come with you, Carl. I'm exhausted, you can tuck me in." He winks at his son and is rewarded with a wide grin. "Goodnight everyone," Rick says, rising from his seat.

Carl stands and walks behind the chairs to give Kelly and Shane each a hug, and then completely surprises Rick when he stops to hug Erin as well before they head off to bed. His twelve year old son had never been very expressive with his emotions and to see him so touchy-feely now says a lot about what he has been through the last few weeks. He feels terrible for not being there for his only child when he would have needed him the most, and now he just prays that he is strong enough to protect Carl from the horrors of the new world.

* * *

Slipping her shoes off outside the tent, Erin unzips the door flap and steps inside, nearly kicking Rick's feet and unsettling Nikki who is curled up at the foot of Carl's cot. She catches herself and re-zips the flap before moving quietly to the left to reach her own air mattress. Exhausted after taking watch with Glenn for the nine to midnight shift, she places her fading lantern on an overturned crate and picks up the red tee shirt that she sleeps in. She glances behind her at her bunkmates to see Kelly on her cot facing the wall and Carl's small form huddled into a ball on his own cot between Kelly and Rick. She sees just enough of the boy's dark hair sticking out from beneath the blanket to know that he is also facing the far wall. A final glance at Rick shows him sleeping shirtless, lying on his right side, facing her bed with the blanket pulled up to his waist. In the soft light of the lantern, she sees the faint line of pink scar tissue that she had exposed that morning and she smiles, remembering all of his laughing curses during the last few sutures.

Turning back to face her bed, she pulls her dark blue Emory University sweatshirt over her head, followed by her dusty tee shirt and bra, tossing the garments onto a small pile at the foot of her mattress. She pulls the red shirt on in the middle of a yawn and sluggishly removes her pants to slip into the black running shorts that she wears to bed. Adding her jeans and socks to the laundry pile, she quietly slips beneath her blanket and reaches up to turn off the lantern. Her hand stills an inch from the knob. Though his eyes are still closed, the smile lifting the corner of Rick's mouth tells her that he hadn't been sleeping for the last few minutes while she'd changed her clothes.

"Well, goodnight sheriff," she says softly with more than an ounce of sarcasm lacing her smile as she turns the knob on the lantern, leaving them in shadows.

"Goodnight, Erin," he says cheerfully from the murkiness in front of her, clearly pleased with himself.

Lying on her left side with her hands curled under her chin, she opens her eyes in a band of silvery light as the moon shines through the mesh window above her. She sees a pair of blue eyes watching her from a few feet away. The smile is gone, replaced with an expression of tenderness that causes the flutter in her belly to tingle warmly as they hold each other's gaze. After several lengthy heartbeats, with his gaze still warm upon her face, she smiles shyly and closes her eyes to the night.

* * *

Erin returns to her tent as the camp continues to hum with early morning activity. Stepping inside, her socks slip slightly on the smooth nylon floor. "Rick?" she says softly to the sleeping sheriff.

She hears a barely perceptible moan from the mattress but his eyes remain closed, not surprising her too much knowing that his body is still healing from the coma. He is lying on his back with his left arm angled above his head while his right hand rests against the gray shorts covering his hip, the blanket twisted around his bare legs after being kicked off in the rising temperature of daybreak.

Kneeling in the narrow aisle between Rick's mattress and hers, she places a hand on his shoulder to gently wake him. "Rick?"

He moves his head toward her voice and opens his eyes slowly, giving her a strange look through a veil of haze. "You woke me up."

"Uh, yeah. I'm sorry, but Glenn wants to know if you want to go back for your car this morning," she tells him, slightly nervous from the accusing look on his face.

"No, I mean… not now. Before. I _remember_ you. You were wearing burgundy scrubs. I remember you," he repeats softly, cocking his head and giving her a glazed look as if a dense fog were slowly lifting.

"Yeah, you saw me at the hospital on Easter Sunday." She smiles, happy that he actually remembers her from that day.

"No, well yes, that's right," he says, squinting at her as if summoning a distant memory. "But that's not what I mean. You woke me up… from the coma," he says slowly, as if trying to make sense of the words as he speaks them. "You were yelling at me because the hospital was on fire or something. Then we ended up by the lake. There was a duck with three babies in the water," he says, peering up at the tent ceiling but she knows he is focusing on the image of a lake.

 _Sweet baby Jesus, he dreamt it too!_ She smiles wistfully, remembering the serenity of the pretty lake. "Actually, it was four ducklings in the water."

"It was three," he insists, looking at her again.

"No, the fourth was trailing back - he came out from behind a bush," she replies softly as a lump swells in her throat. "You just didn't see it."

"Oh my God, but _you_ _did_." He shifts to his side, leaning up on his right elbow. "We really were there, weren't we? You really woke me up, Erin," he says, taking her hand in his.

"I guess maybe I did," she says, suddenly overwhelmed as she feels a pressure building behind her eyes in the form of unshed tears.

"Wow. Um, thank you," he says and then shakes his head. "God, that sounds so lame. I mean, hell, _you saved my life_." He falls back to the pillow, pulling her hand with him and covering it with both of his as they rest against his flat belly.

Erin looks down at their joined hands and drags a knuckle to the corner of her eye with her free hand, wiping the salty moisture on her jeans. "You're welcome." She grins through her tears as he squeezes her hand inside both of his, warming her skin and making it feel as if it has waited all its life to be held right there.

"How the hell did you find me, Erin?" he murmurs, gazing into her eyes as he strokes the back of her hand.

She shakes her head, wondering about that herself for the hundredth time since he showed up yesterday. "I don't know," she replies softly. "But it was an awfully pretty lake," she says with a smile as another tear seeps from the corner of her eye. She wipes it away as the warm thumb coasting across her hand brings a sense of calm to the incredibly profound moment.

"Yes, it is." He smiles warmly at her and she knows he is picturing the rock they sat upon. "It's by my grandfather's cabin in Woodland."

"I know. I recognized it in a picture Carl showed me after I had the dream. That was a very nice fish you caught, by the way," she tells him, sniffling as her eyes brighten with amusement.

"Oh, _that_ picture," he chuckles. "Carl is so proud of that shot. Yeah, that was a big one." He grins at the memory. "I'd like to get back down there someday. I'd love to take you there." He smirks at the eyebrows she raises at him. "For real I mean. You should see it in the fall when the leaves change. It's beautiful."

"I'd like that," she says sincerely, smiling warmly at the thought as she continues to absorb the shock of all that has transpired.

He holds her gaze for a moment and then sits up, bringing her hand to his mouth. He presses a brief kiss to her palm and sighs heavily. "So I guess I'd better get up if I want to get my car back, huh?"

"Probably." She stands up and he releases her hand as she turns toward the open tent flap. "I'll tell Glenn you'll be out in a minute." She says, finally swallowing the lump of emotion that has lodged itself in her throat since his astounding discovery.

"Thanks, Erin. Um… for everything. Really."

She turns back at the deep sincerity in his voice, knowing just what he is trying to say. The tenderness in his gaze steadies her trembling hand as she reaches for the tent flap. As a sense of peace envelopes her, she nods her head and smiles thoughtfully. "I'm so glad you listened to me."

She steps out of the tent with a lightness that she'd never felt before, believing that everything will be okay somehow. Despite the current, dreadful state of the world, she knows she'll be alright as long as she continues to see him outside of her dreams.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N I'm posting this chapter early as a bit of therapy after last night's heart-crushing episode so we can spend some more time with a beloved character. And can somebody please give Andy Lincoln that friggin Emmy already!  
**

* * *

Chapter Seven

Rick walks through the camp strapping his gun belt to his waist and wishing he had his hat to complete the uniform. Hopefully, if all goes well, he'll have it by this afternoon.

He meets Glenn by the open grill of the RV where the Asian guy is getting a lesson in mechanics from Dale as T-Dog keeps watch from the roof. "Good morning," Rick says, coming to stand beside them.

"'Morning, Rick," Dale smiles genially, wiping his hands on a grease stained rag.

"So do you want to go for a ride?" Glenn asks him, squinting into the sun coming up over the Atlanta skyline.

"You think it'll be clear already?" Rick asks skeptically.

"I don't know, but there's another town I want to hit and that CVS isn't too far out of the way. I figure we might as well check it out," Glenn replies.

"Good idea, Chinaman. Let's go," Merle says, carelessly tossing a granola bar wrapper onto the ground at his feet as he steps out of the Winnebago.

"Oh, no. No way!" Glenn tells him adamantly. "Not this time." He looks at Rick while pointing an angry finger toward Merle. "Rick, it was his fault your car got left behind to begin with. He's not coming with us!"

"Fine with me," Rick agrees, more than happy to leave the lazy redneck behind.

"Yeah, but if we didn't take him with us, China doll – he never would'a found his boy!" Merle retorts angrily. "Hey, I did you a favor, man," he says to Rick.

"As I recall, you were ready to leave me and Glenn behind at that store. If he hadn't grabbed onto the car door when he did, you would've been out of that parking lot without us. Not exactly a team player – are you?" Rick accuses, leaning in and tilting his head in distaste.

"Well a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, ya know."

"Then you do what you gotta do back here. We don't need you on this run," Rick responds shortly as Merle's impervious attitude and insensitive smirk grates on his nerves.

"You can't stop me from going, man."

"You've got your bike. No one is stopping you from going anywhere," Rick counters. "You can hit the highway any time you want." He waves his arm spanning the dirt road leading out of the quarry as he spots Daryl emerging from his tent. The man approaches their group looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"C'mon, Merle. Let's go hunt us that deer," he says quietly to his brother. "That one we been tracking can't be too far yet."

"You go on, little brother. Go get that buck while I take a ride with these gentlemen."

"You're not coming, Merle!" Glenn says stubbornly, and then looks at Rick for reinforcement.

"Look, Merle, I know you think you-," Rick starts before Merle cuts him off midsentence.

"You don't know shit about me, cop!" the man spews, angry veins bulging in his neck.

"Oh, trust me. I know you well enough, Dixon." Rick narrows his eyes at the man, scrutinizing his insolent scowl. "I've dealt with a lot of scum just like you. You're a lowlife bottom feeder living off of everyone else's hard work. Why don't you make yourself useful and go hunting with your brother."

"Yeah, come on, Merle. Let's just go," Daryl says to his older brother, trying to diffuse the situation.

Ignoring Daryl, Merle continues to antagonize Rick. "Just 'cause yer wearin' that uniform don't mean shit anymore, sheriff," he protests, spitting into the dirt.

"Well, it must mean something because you're still calling me sheriff," Rick responds sardonically, turning his shoulder in dismissal.

Facing the tents, Rick sees Shane appear from the woods behind Nikki with Kelly and Carl in tow. The man hands Carl a battered pail and points to a table centered between the tents. As the other two head to the table with what Rick assumes is a bucket of berries, Shane approaches their heated gathering, muscles flexed beneath a tight black tee shirt as his combat boots crunch the ground beneath his feet.

Rick throws a nod in his partner's direction as Daryl tries to calm his angry brother while stroking the husky's thick fur.

"What's going on guys?" Shane asks anxiously, dark eyes spoiling for a fight as he feeds off of the tension filling the space between Rick and Merle.

"Nothin'. Me and Merle were just goin' hunting. Right, man?" Daryl says, tapping his brother's arm as a note of apprehension laces his voice.

"Whatever," Merle sneers. "Let's just get the fuck outta here."

Rick gives Daryl a brief nod of thanks as the hunter follows his brother toward the forest. "Asshole," he mutters, looking at the elder Dixon with disdain before turning back toward Shane.

"You're going back for the car?" Shane asks him with a slight accusatory edge to the simple question. Without waiting for a reply, he continues, "You think that's a good idea? I mean you just got back here, man. You really want to leave Carl already?" he finishes with an incredulous tone.

Rick pinches the bridge of his nose as he gears up for another argument. "I'd rather not, no. But I've got a bag of guns in the trunk that I think we could use and I need the walkie to keep in touch with Morgan. I owe that man everything."

"What kind of guns? How many?"

"Six shotguns, two high-powered rifles and over a dozen handguns along with an assortment of seven hundred rounds of ammo."

Shane whistles at the staggering amount of artillery. "Where'd you find all that?" he asks, suddenly interested.

"I cleaned out the cage back at the station. Left a couple of weapons with Morgan along with the other walkie and we agreed to turn them on each morning at dawn to stay in touch," Rick explains. "He was going to meet me at the cabin in a few days."

"You're not still planning on going to Woodland, are you? I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Well, I don't really need to now since I found you guys here," Rick replies. "Which is why I really need that walkie to tell Morgan to come here instead."

"Okay. I get it, but I don't like it. Just get the car and get back here, alright?"

"I will." Rick answers with a nod before walking toward his family seated at a small rectangular table.

As Rick approaches the table, Carl stands, wiping purple fingers on his jeans and giving his father a proud smile. "Look at all the berries we found, Dad."

"Great job, bud," Rick says with a hand on the boy's shoulder as he glances at the pail in the center of the worn table. "Listen, Carl," he says, leaning down to get closer to his son's eye level. "I have to take a little ride with Glenn to go get my car," he explains.

"Can I come too?" Carl asks, smiling at the prospect of leaving the camp for once.

"No, buddy. I'm sorry but I need you to stay here to look after Kelly and Erin," Rick answers as he sees the redhead walking toward them from Carol's tent. "Can you do that for me?"

"Sure, Dad." He nods with an air of self-importance, puffing out his thin twelve year old chest. "I'll take care of them while you're gone," he assures his father, taking his newfound responsibility very seriously.

Holding back a hearty chuckle, Rick smiles at his son and replies, "Thank you, Carl. Come here." He pulls the boy into his arms, hugging his thin frame and then straightening again.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he tells Kelly as she comes around the table to give him a goodbye hug of her own.

Releasing his sister, he looks at Erin as she stands next to Carl. Without thought or reason, he reaches for her instinctively.

He gathers her in his embrace and is nearly overwhelmed at the sudden feeling of protectiveness that tightens his muscles. The last time he'd felt such a surge was at the hospital a few weeks before, when he'd first laid eyes on a pretty nurse in burgundy scrubs.

Of course! No wonder he'd wanted to throw Shane into the quarry yesterday. _She really does belong to me!_

After recollecting their dream upon waking this morning, he did recall seeing her at the hospital on Easter Sunday. But he did not remember the strong feelings he'd felt that day until she'd stepped into his arms just now. _How could I have forgotten?_

The quiet strength of her arms lying against his shoulders brings a sense of comfort to him that he'd never experienced before. It's as if she has the same fierce need to protect _him_ coursing through her own veins.

"Be careful, Rick." The hand stroking the nape of his neck feels heavenly.

"No worries. I've got the sweetest guardian angel watching over me," he says against her hair before pressing his lips to her temple. "I'll be back before you know it."

* * *

As Glenn and Rick drive away in a plume of dust, Erin catches a curious eyebrow from Kelly. "Well it looks like you two have gotten awfully close."

"You have no idea," Erin answers cryptically, grinning pensively at Rick's sister as Amy and Andrea sit down at the table placing a deck of cards in front of Carl.

* * *

As Glenn slows the car to a stop across the street from the CVS in Adamsville, Rick sees his police cruiser sitting patiently beside a handful of walkers shuffling aimlessly about the lot.

"It's not too bad. I think we can take them," Glenn says with a spike of hope as he reaches for the revolver in the center console.

"No guns," Rick says, laying a hand over the barrel of the weapon. "We take them with knives; one stick to the head, quick and quiet so we don't attract others that may be in the area, like that guy up there," he finishes, signaling to a lone straggler lumbering across the street a short distance up the road, his long raincoat billowing in the breeze as various bits of trash drift like tumbleweeds around his feet.

"Fine," Glenn says dejectedly. "Then I'll take the two on the left and you get the three on the right." He places the revolver back in the cup holder and pulls a knife from the long pocket built into the door.

"No, we stick together," Rick says with authority. "We both start with the two on the left and finish with the right."

"Alright, they're starting to head this way. Let's go."

Exiting the car, they swiftly cross the street and easily dispatch the first two walkers before the other three advance on them.

Turning quickly, Glenn stabs a woman with greasy, matted brown hair in a once-white pantsuit as Rick kicks a young man in the chest, sending him stumbling backward and giving himself time to lodge his knife into the left eye of an older man with a blood stained Tampa Bay Buccaneers jersey. Removing the knife as quickly as it had gone in, he turns in time to sink the blade into the forehead of the younger man.

"Glenn!" Rick calls, hunched over the twice dead corpse as he retrieves the knife impacted in its thick skull. "Over there!" he yells, nodding his head toward two walkers that are approaching from behind his patrol car.

Glenn hustles toward the newcomers, pushing the first one against the vehicle and piercing it smoothly through an eye as Rick takes care of the second one – a teenage girl with a tattered cheerleading outfit and severely rotting lips. Breathing heavily, the young Asian turns toward the deputy for a well-deserved, but premature, high five. "Rick! Behind you!"

Rick turns quickly to see the walker with the raincoat advancing steadily toward them. He draws his arm back to deliver the final fatal blow but hesitates as something about this one strikes him as odd. Just before bringing the knife forward, Rick realizes the difference between this walker and the others; he is filthy, bloody, bruised and battered… but not decaying. Though his dark beard could use a good scrubbing, his lips are perfectly intact. In the instant he registers this one small but extremely important detail, he stills the knife as the walker focuses on him with eyes that are haunted, but not hungry. Understanding that the man is not at all dead, Rick is still taken aback to hear a strangled "Please" escape from his throat.

Lowering the knife, Rick puts a hand on the stranger's shoulder to steady himself as much as comfort the dark haired man. "Holy fuck, that was close," Rick exclaims, bending slightly at the waist in an effort to regain his composure. "Are you okay mister?"

Getting no response and realizing that he is definitely not okay, Rick takes a different approach. "Look, I'm Rick, and this is Glenn. We can help you. What's your name?"

"Jim."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

After learning that Jim had seen his family torn apart in front of him, Rick had insisted that the tormented man come back to the quarry with them. The man didn't exactly agree nor protest; he just numbly followed the sheriff and climbed into the police cruiser when the door was held open for him, a mask of complete indifference shadowing his weary face.

Before leaving Adamsville, Rick and Glenn did a quick sweep of the CVS to gather some supplies, including a can of white spray paint. While Jim sat in the car with his despondent thoughts, Rick made quick work of spray painting a large white arrow pointing east beneath the word "Morgan" on the stop sign at the far corner across from the pharmacy. On the way back to camp, while Glenn went on to raid a town near Mableton, Rick painted several more arrows for his friend to follow in case the walkies didn't work come morning.

Now back at the quarry, he leaves Jim in the care of Carol, Jacqui and Dale and heads toward the southern woods where he was told he would find his family.

Approaching Carl, Kelly and Erin as they chatter amiably while stringing more cans to reinforce the primitive walker alarm system, he catches his sister's eye as she drops a handful of small stones into an empty can of baked beans, preparing it for the line of defense.

"Hey, Rick," Kelly calls out cheerfully, causing Carl and Erin to immediately turn around. The joy that fills their eyes matches his own and warms him greatly. "How'd you make out?" His sister asks.

He sees Erin glance up at the wide-brimmed hat with the noble gold star sitting righteously atop his head. "You got it!" the redhead cheers exuberantly.

He'd never been more proud of his uniform than he was as that moment, standing taller than he'd ever felt as she gazes up at him.

"Afternoon ma'am." Tilting his chin, he lifts the hat an inch or two from his head while giving her a slight chivalrous bow just before Carl leaps into his arms.

Erin gives him a knowing smile. "That's a very nice hat, Rick," she beams, clearly recalling their conversation from the day before.

"Thank you." He can't help the ridiculously wide grin that splits his cheeks as he looks at her over his son's shoulder, shifting the boy to sit more comfortably in his arms.

"Can we go fishing now, Dad?" Carl asks, excitement seeping from every pore of his small body as he clings to his shoulders.

"I don't know. Are you done here?" Rick replies, setting the boy on his feet and looking at the two women for an answer.

"Yeah, as soon Erin ties that one off." Kelly gestures to the forgotten can of beets in Erin's hand.

"Can Erin come with us?" Carl asks Rick and then quickly turns to the woman. "Do you want to come fishing with us?" he asks, inviting her without waiting for a reply from his father.

"Oh, I don't know, bud. Girls are bad luck around fish," Rick interrupts, giving Erin a teasing wink.

"Hey, you owe me," she glares at Rick with laughter in her eyes and a finger poking at his chest. "I woke you up. Remember?"

 _I'll never forget._ "Okay, fine," he laughs, grabbing her finger and trapping it against his chest. "I guess I owe you one fishing excursion for saving my life."

"It's a start," she replies, teasing him back with a playful smile.

 _God, she's beautiful._

Thirty-five minutes later, the slender 'We-no-nah' sways gently beneath the sun as it floats above the heart of the lake. From his seat in the center of the vessel, Carl casts his line again. On the narrow plank bench behind the boy, Rick watches his son's shoulders droop in an obvious display of frustration. Usually a patient fisherman, Carl seems to be more restless today. Being cooped up in camp all day for the past month must be taking its toll.

"How come nothing's biting?" Carl sighs, tilting his head back and gazing at the sky as if an answer will float down upon him.

"Chill out chief, they'll come eventually," Erin mollifies the boy as Rick sees her staring anxiously at her own bobber as it floats untouched on the surface of the water. "Just be patient and enjoy the peace and quiet," she says with a slight edge of impatience spiking her own voice.

Rick chuckles at her over Carl's head. "Good advice, Red."

"Hey, Erin, how come you don't have any kids?" Carl asks bluntly through the innocence of his youth.

She hesitates for a moment and then answers prudently, "I can't have kids, honey. When I was a teenager, just a little older than you, I was really sick and I had to take a lot of strong medicine to get better. The medicine screwed up my body so now I can't ever have a baby," she tells him and Rick can practically feel the tightness squeezing her heart. "But at least I'm alive to enjoy this day with you, so it's all good." She nods her head with a small smile at Rick, but it's not enough to erase the disappointment that he sees in her eyes.

"That's too bad. I think you'd be a good mom," Carl tells her with the frankness of all his twelve years as he absently dips his fishing pole in and out of the turquoise water.

"I'm so sorry," Rick says softly across the length of the boat, compassionate blue eyes boring into her sad green ones.

"It's okay. It's probably a good thing that I can't get pregnant with the world spinning off-kilter the way it is now anyway."

He nods in sympathetic agreement, but he sees through the brave smile she brandishes to hide the pain.

"Daryl must have been wrong about this spot. There's nothing here at all," Carl complains, shifting the conversation abruptly. "Hey, maybe he'll show me how to hunt with the crossbow someday," he says, changing gears once again. "That would be awesome."

"Maybe," Erin replies. "When you're big and strong like your dad."

"Shane says I'll grow into my balls someday and they'll be as big as his. But Dad's are bigger," he states matter-of-factly as Rick nearly chokes in his attempt to obliterate Carl's words.

"Woah!" Rick bellows as Erin covers her mouth to conceal her laughter. Her eyes dance, kicking the sadness that swam in their depths a moment before. Though he'll gladly take the heat to keep her eyes shining like that, he leans forward to admonish his son. "You shouldn't say stuff like that in front of girls," Rick warns in a low, fairly stern voice.

"But you do have the-,"

"Enough!" Rick cuts him off with a friendly swat to the back of his head, slightly upsetting the craft as it begins to pitch and sway. "Sorry, Erin," he says with a touch of humility. "Let me apologize for my insensitive son." _Good Lord!_

She lowers her hand to reveal a huge grin. "Oh, no need to apologize, Rick," she says, bright eyes shining with mirth. She brushes her long hair behind her ear in an almost shy gesture and he can practically see the band of heat that has nothing to do with the sun radiate up her chest and neck. _Does she want me as much as I want her? Impossible._

Two hours and seven fish later, Rick gingerly climbs out of the boat, stepping on the smooth stones of the shoreline to pull the canoe up the last few feet to rest securely on the rocky beach. Jeans rolled up to his calves, the cool water soaks through to his knees as he turns back to help Carl.

His strong hands grip the boy's waist as Carl steps one foot carefully onto the railing with a hand on Rick's shoulder to steady himself. Without a second thought, he lifts his son from the boat and tosses the boy through the air to land with a giant screeching splash. Carl surfaces quickly in a combination of laughing coughs, threatening to get even.

Ignoring his son, Rick offers a hand to Erin as she carefully moves toward the front of the tipsy, not-quite-moored-yet canoe. A long coil of thick auburn hair falls over her shoulder as she braces herself with a hand on the last seat. Straightening, she wipes her palm against the black tank top hanging loosely over a pair of faded denim shorts and then reaches out to meet his hand. Before they connect, she quickly withdraws as if she'd touched a flaming torch, or just remembered that he could easily burn her if she got too close. "Come on, Red."

"Oh thanks, but I really don't need your kind of help," she laughs with a dismissive flick of her wrist.

"Come on, take my hand. I promise I won't throw you in."

"Get her, Dad!" Carl yells enthusiastically as he bobs up and down in the water like an oversized cork.

"You stay out of this, Chief!" she yells at Carl while her laughing eyes never leave Rick's mischievous gaze. "Rick, I swear – if you throw me in I'll sew all of your stitches back in!"

"Oh _, hell no!_ I promise, I'll be good. Cross my heart," he promises with an index finger making a sloppy X over his chest.

Giving him a warning glare, she takes his hand and carefully steps to the railing. Still glaring, she quickly climbs out of the boat without giving him a chance to do anything drastic. Not that he was going to after giving her his word.

"See, I told you that you could trust me," he smiles sincerely with their hands linked between them, enjoying the feel of her palms against his too much to let her go too quickly. And now that she is on semi-solid ground with her toes in the squishy sand below the knee deep water, she doesn't seem to be in a hurry to release his hands either.

She returns his smile with tender eyes and his heart stutters inside his chest. Then the softness of her gaze shimmers with a sparkle and she grins wickedly up at him, tightening her fingers against his. "Yeah, you're no fun at all." A heartbeat later, he is happily stunned to find himself falling toward the water as Erin tugs hard on his hands, heaving her body backward and pulling him down with her.

As they come up sputtering and giggling together in deeper water, he takes a deep breath preparing to reprimand her and gets a mouthful of water right between his eyes. "That's it!" he shouts, grabbing her shoulders and shoving her playfully back down into the water.

"Yeah!" Carl shouts, happily encouraging his father as he shakes the water out of his hair like a shaggy dog.

"Yeah what, buddy?" Rick turns toward his son, staring at the boy with menacing amusement before he quickly grabs Carl and tosses him in the air to create another big splash.

As soon as his little boy hits the water, Rick feels a larger, softer, curvier body clinging to his back. Long sinewy arms dripping with lake water wrap themselves around the wet gray tee shirt covering his chest. He grabs onto a beautifully shaped leg at each of his hips and falls sideways into the water. Just before they go under, a warm wet tongue fills his ear in the form of the famously childish Wet Willy. And that is the moment he realizes that he is in way over his head - quite literally as they sink deeper beneath the surface of the water, clinging to each other as the world drifts away. But no matter how badly he wants her, he vows to keep it strictly platonic. There's no other way. For her sake.

As his lungs get tighter with the need for oxygen, Rick releases her legs and twists within her arms. They resurface with her thighs still wrapped around his waist, but now facing each other in the chest high water.

He hears Carl splashing directly behind him and notices the conspiratorial nod Erin tosses over his shoulder toward his son. A moment later, her fingers are pulling the neck of his clingy soaked shirt away from his nape as a much smaller hand grips his shoulder. He feels the water slosh against his shoulder blades as his son hoists himself higher, and then something cold and slimy slips into the opening that Erin created at his back.

"The hell?" Rick cries as what feels like a small frog thrashes between his skin and his shirt, searching for a way out. Submerging again, he lets go of Erin's legs as he hastily pulls the back of his shirt out of his jeans.

She leaves him to break the surface for a breath of air and Rick struggles to completely remove his shirt beneath the rippling water. He finally emerges, bare-chested and breathing heavily as he tosses his sopping balled-up tee shirt into his son's cackling face.

The next fifteen minutes are spent splashing, dunking, diving and digging and he doesn't remember the last time his cheeks were this sore from smiling so much.

A lot of it has to do with the beautiful redhead currently carrying his son on her back as they team up against him. He hasn't felt this utterly content in a long, long time, even with one eye on the moody survivalist watching unhappily from the base of the quarry wall.

* * *

Freshly dressed in black yoga pants and a pale green tee shirt, Erin drapes her wet clothes over the line stretched between a tree and a cross pole while the boys get changed inside the tent. After straightening out her capri jeans to dry faster in the hot sun, she walks over to the RV in a quest for a much needed water bottle.

Seeing a dark haired man with terribly haunted eyes standing in front of the camper with Dale, Erin assumes this is the man Rick told her about earlier. Dale introduces her to Jim and she offers to get him a drink as well, which he gratefully accepts with a soft ' _please_ '. Returning with two water bottles, she finds Jim alone as Dale walks toward Andrea and Amy at the fire pit.

Handing the man a bottle of tepid spring water, she sees Rick and Carl emerge from their tent across the clearing and feels the flutter in her belly do a backflip, not for the first time.

"He's a good man, your Rick," Jim says solemnly. "You take care of each other," he advises, his dark eyes boring deeply into Erin's.

"Well, he's not exactly 'my Rick', but yes… he is a good man," she replies honestly, slightly uneasy at the intensity of Jim's gaze.

"He's yours. He just hasn't accepted it yet." Jim closes his eyes and tilts his head back with a deflated sigh, the sunlight erasing the shadows on the surface of his features as the ghosts seem to haunt his soul beneath.

"Is that how it was with your wife, Jim? Did she know before you did?" Erin asks softly, hoping to all that's holy that it may help him to talk about his family. When he doesn't answer right away, she regrets her decision and feels even more unsettled with the bearded man.

Lowering his head to look at her once again, his eyes seem a little lighter and a lot clearer when he finally answers with a crooked smile. "No. I knew it first. Took me a while to convince her."

Erin expels the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and gives him a light, compassionate smile. "So how did you convince her?"

"Lots of her favorite chocolate and a very big bottle of wine." He grins nostalgically, sadness shadowing his eyes momentarily before he blinks it away. "My Susie had a sweet tooth with a penchant for a nice merlot," he tells her with a contented smirk as he talks about his late wife.

Erin chuckles softly. "My kind of lady," she smiles warmly. "She sounds lovely."

"She was." He nods thoughtfully as he twists off the cap of the water bottle. "And she was a great mom. The best."

"How many kids did you have?" she asks gently, not sure how far she should push him, but believing that talking about your demons was the best way to deal with them.

After taking a long sip of water and replacing the cap, he looks down, covering his eyes as his thumb and forefinger smooth over the fine hairs of his dark eyebrows. Inhaling deeply, he squares his shoulders and lifts his head as if making a conscious decision not to let the agony of their loss debilitate him. "Two boys. Michael and David. Good kids. Made me proud, every day."

"I'm sure they were proud of you too."

He bobs his head as he looks up at the billowing clouds floating across the bright blue sky, clearly fighting the tears that threaten to choke him. He takes a steadying breath and glances back at her. "I think so."

"They're still proud of you, you know. For surviving. For keeping their memories alive," she tells him with a small lump in her own throat. "As long as you live on… so do they."

"You make it sound so easy."

"No. I don't think anything will be easy ever again. Not for a long, long time anyway. So we just have to make the best of what we have. Right now. And pray that tomorrow we get the chance to do it again," she says as she watches the man of her dreams walk steadily toward her. "And maybe it'll be even a little bit better."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N While we don't need therapy after last night's episode (thank God!), I do need a bit of a cuddle after sitting thru the Rickless show. I thought you might feel the same so I'm posting early again. I think I will stick to Mondays from now on. Enjoy…**

* * *

Chapter Nine

Sitting low in the sky over the western tree line, the sun bathes the clouds in a red-orange glow that matches the flames dancing within the circle of the fire pit. Erin swats at a mosquito as she crosses the camp toward Kelly and Jacqui, who have already begun preparations for dinner. "Alright, what can I do?"

"Nothing at all since you helped catch our dinner," Jacqui responds, placing a tray of freshly cleaned bass and crappie fish on a tree stump next to the low burning fire.

"Yeah, that was hard work," Erin replies sarcastically. "And Rick and Daryl took care of cleaning the fish so I really can't take much credit for this meal. So, what do you want me to do?" she offers again rubbing her palms together in the universal sign of getting down to business.

"Just sit and relax, Erin. There's really not much to do," Kelly says as she sprinkles a conservative amount of Cajun seasoning over each fillet.

"Fine. Just let me know if you need anything." Erin settles onto one end of the bench seat that used to take up residence inside the Peletier's van. She stretches her long legs out toward the heat of the fire, enjoying a few moments to just sit and be. And just like that, with her hands empty and her mind at ease – the words that Jim had said to her earlier come rushing in, demanding an audience.

Their conversation had been tumbling around in her mind all afternoon, looking to dig its heels in and force her to consider his words. She'd pushed the topic back into the shadows while folding laundry and helping Carl and Sophia with their math problems, but with nothing to keep her tired mind occupied now, she can't stop his words from taking center stage in her brain. ' _Your Rick'._ Well the sheriff certainly feels like _Her Rick,_ but then that would make her _His Erin._ Though she may feel that way, she's not sure he feels it himself.

Glancing up the hill toward the caravan of vehicles, she sees Rick talking to Glenn and Jim at the bumper of the Winnebago. She can't help but wonder if the quiet man is giving him something to think about as well.

As if he senses her eyes and thoughts upon him, Rick turns his head and meets her gaze. She knows that he is still listening to whatever Glenn is saying at the moment, but she also knows that a small part of him is hearing her as well. The tilt of his chin calls to her as their eyes connect and hold.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly at some humor in Glenn's words but his eyes never leave her face. She gives him a small smile and though she doesn't exactly see him nod his head in return, she _feels_ the gesture nonetheless.

"Hey, Aunt Kelly, when's dinner gonna be ready?"

His son's voice pulls her away from Rick's steady gaze as Carl and Sophia make themselves comfortable around the fire; Carl taking the space next to her on the car seat and Sophia on a metal folding chair across the fire.

"Won't be done for a little while, buddy. Just enough time to do a couple of math problems," Kelly teases her nephew.

"Oh, come on," he grumbles. "I already did a bunch today," he remarks and Erin has to hold back a grin when his thin shoulders sag in defeated frustration.

"I know, honey. I'm just kidding," Kelly confesses. "But dinner won't be ready for about a half hour."

Erin's eyes hold Rick's again as he walks down the slope to join the growing dinner crowd. He gives her a quick wink before planting his feet directly in front of Carl. With fisted hands on his hips and a scowl on his face, he is an imposing figure of authority. "You're not giving your aunt a hard time are you?" he questions his son in a pseudo stern voice that makes Erin's impish little flutter giggle in her belly.

"No, Dad. She was the one teasing me!" Carl answers defensively, straightening his back as he tries to sit taller in the seat.

"I know, bud." Rick grins at his son as he relaxes his arms. "Now I'm the one teasing you."

"Ugh!" Carl deflates into the back of the seat cushion with a look of complete exasperation.

"Didn't you know, Carl…" Erin says to the boy as she turns her body toward him. "That's their job." She leans over and sticks a finger beneath his ribs eliciting a sharp peel of laughter as he squirms against her hand.

Looking up at Carl's father a moment later, Erin returns the affectionate smile that he is shining down on her. Standing in black jeans and another white tee shirt, Rick's blue eyes gleam with delight, along with a good amount of fatigue.

"You look beat," she tells him honestly.

"I am," he nods on a leaden sigh, eyeing the bench seat with longing.

Tapping Carl on the knee, Erin tilts her chin toward the boy but maintains eye contact with his father. "Hey, honey, why don't you go sit by Sophia so your Dad can sit here."

Standing without argument, Carl vacates his seat and moves along the circle of assorted chairs to rest upon a tree stump next to the young girl. Erin gives her a sympathetic smile, knowing that Sophia will be called over to eat at her parent's own fire at any moment.

"Thanks buddy." Rick says as he moves to take the empty seat.

"Come here." Erin scoots a little to her right, resting at the very edge of the seat to give Rick more room on the other end. She drapes her left arm over the back of the seat as he collapses onto the cushion next to her. Lying on his side, he rests his head on her lap with his right leg bent and his left leg stretched out, his foot resting on a folding chair.

When his left hand tucks itself between her kneecaps, she certainly feels like _His Erin_. She threads her fingers through his dark hair, gently massaging his skull. She skates her fingertips across his scalp, over the whorl of his crown and down to his nape, repeating the circuit as he breathes a heavy sigh of contentment.

"God, that feels good," he mumbles and she feels his entire body relaxing at her touch. Yes it does, she thinks as his thumb makes a gentle arch on her knee.

Erin catches Jim's eye across the campground and he gives her a small nod. She dips her chin in return then looks back at the man on her lap, thinking wine and chocolate won't do in her situation. Enjoying the pressure of his hand on her knee, she thinks that maybe Rick just needs someone that he can hold onto.

* * *

When Rick opens his eyes nearly two hours later, the fire is burning very low and all the chairs surrounding it are empty save one; Dale is sitting in a green camp chair talking to Erin about the value of time, or forgetting time, or defeating it or something like that. His sleepy mind hasn't caught up to his eyes just yet so it's all a bit of a muddled mess.

Lifting his head from Erin's lap, he realizes that full night is upon them as he gazes about the camp. He sees mostly darkened tents with the exception of a soft lantern glow from within the Dixon brother's shelter.

"Hey sleepyhead," Erin says softly above him as he feels the caress of her hand against his shoulder.

"Shit, I guess I missed dinner." He twists his head from side to side to relieve the stiffness in his neck as he swings his legs around to sit up. She stretches her leg out and he hears a soft groan drift from her chest as the blood returns to her lower extremity _._ "Why didn't you wake me?" he asks, feeling bad for causing her any discomfort.

"You need your sleep. Your body is still healing and you need to get all your strength back if you're going to lead this group," she answers, stretching her leg out with a soft groan. "And we saved you some dinner."

"Who says I'm going to lead the group?" he asks, looking back at her with a curious expression as he sits forward on the bench, wringing his hands between his knees.

"We need you, Rick," Dale interjects and the deputy glances up to see the older man place a pot of leftovers onto the fire. "Nobody wants to listen to an old geezer like me, especially your hotheaded partner," he says quietly and Rick follows his quick glance toward the RV where Shane is settled into a chair on the roof, keeping watch. "These people need a man they can trust to do the right thing. They'll listen to you. Even Shane will, I think. For the most part."

"Well, I'm not looking to take over or anything," Rick replies. "But I'll do whatever needs to be done to keep my family safe. Anything," he adds, turning to look at Erin pointedly. "You guys are all that matter."

"And we'll follow your lead as you do it. I'm confident that's enough to keep us all safe," Dale says as he rises to his feet. "And with that… I'm off to stop spending my breath on trying to conquer time," he says, smiling wryly at Erin. "Goodnight folks."

After bidding Dale goodnight, Rick sits back and stretches his right arm across the back of the seat behind Erin. "Alright, your turn," he says, patting his lap with his other hand.

"Ooh, so tempting," she replies as he watches her look from his thighs to his face. She settles for snuggling against him with her head on his shoulder and a fist curled on his chest. Warm and solid at his side she breathes life into him. Again. Still. "But your dinner is going to be ready in a just a minute and you need to eat."

"To get my strength back?" he asks lightly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and laying his cheek against her head. A perfect fit.

"Yes. I'm going to keep you healthy so you can keep us safe," she says just before yawning into his shirt.

"That sounds like a fair trade off. Now why don't you go to bed while I eat my dinner and talk to Shane for a bit. I'm wide awake so I might as well take watch."

"Okay," she says drowsily. "Then it'll be my turn to watch you change when you come in later."

Squeezing her shoulder, he pulls her tighter against him as he chuckles into her hair. "That sounds like a fair trade off too."

* * *

The sun is a bright ball of white light surrounded by soft pink and yellow clouds as it slowly rises above the rooftops of Atlanta's skyscrapers. The field above the quarry glistens with early morning dew as the long grass sways in a faint breeze, drifting against the knees of the man crouched within its sea.

After hiking up to the small clearing at the highest point of their surroundings, he keeps one eye on the woods as he wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, the scarred metal of the walkie talkie in his hand shining hotly under the gleam of the early morning sun.

"Morgan, I don't know if you can hear me but I found my family. They weren't at the cabin - I never even made it that far. But I found them. Do you believe that? I actually found them." Rick releases the button of the walkie and waits a few seconds for a response, hoping to hear the crackle of life on the other end. Hearing nothing but a soft hum through the speaker, he presses the button again and continues, "We're camped out at the edge of an old abandoned rock quarry off of West Marietta. I left you some signs. I hope you see them." He releases the button and squints into the pretty sunrise, listening for a few moments before beginning again. "We've got a good group of people here. For the most part anyway. I can't wait to introduce you to everyone." He immediately thinks of Erin and yearns to tell his friend how amazing she is. God help him, he feels like a pubescent teen with his first big crush. But she's more than that, so much more. She's everything. And that terrifies him. Realizing he's still got the button depressed while his heart and dick had taken over his train of thought, he releases it quickly and counts to ten, listening for Morgan's voice while his brain gets back on track. Then, taking a safer route, he presses the button and says, "I can't wait for Carl to meet Duane." He smiles and then realizes that that may not be safer as he thinks of what trouble the two boys could get themselves into. If they become anything like he and Shane were at that age, he'd better keep a real close eye on them. "Take care of yourself, Morgan. Be safe. I'll try you again tomorrow morning. This is Rick, signing off."

Erin had always loved the woods on a warm summer morning with the sounds of nature scurrying on little legs and the sweet whistle of birds as they welcome the new day. Though this morning broke extremely hot and humid, bringing with it the promise of afternoon thunderstorms, the canopy of grand trees stand tall and noble above the quarry's edge, protective of the two children walking ahead of her and Jacqui on the deer trail next to the camp. Even with the chattering sounds of Carl and Sophia breaking the quiet serenity of the forest, Erin is still enjoying the peaceful presence of Mother Nature herself. Until Jacqui's words interrupt the tranquility.

"So, you got something going on with Kelly's brother, huh? He's awfully cute," Jacqui says at her side. "Come on, Erin. You have to admit there's something going on between you," she adds when Erin doesn't respond right away.

"Okay, there is definitely _something_ there. I'm just not sure exactly how deep it goes yet," Erin answers softly, wary of how Carl might feel about the subject as she watches him skip over branches and rocks with Sophia, searching for mushrooms and berries on the trail up ahead.

"Well, from the way you look at each other – it's _very_ deep. I mean, you two actually remind me of my grandparents."

"The heck?! He's barely thirty-four and I'm only twenty six!"

"No. I mean, the way he looks at you. My grandfather looks at my nana that way," Jacqui clarifies. "They've been married for over sixty years and they still look at each other _deeply._ We all know that when one passes away, the other will follow within weeks, if not days. Thank God they are both healthy and too stubborn to die first." She pauses and Erin knows that her friend is praying that their stubbornness is keeping them alive in these crazy times. "And they've always known what the other was going to say before they said it," she finishes with a hard swallow and a watery shimmer in her eyes.

Erin remembers the wordless conversation she and Rick had shared about Ed Peletier the other night – okay, that was pretty deep. And there's no denying that the dream they shared was immeasurable.

She absently stoops to pick up a rusty screwdriver that catches her eye beneath a branch, the metal shank glinting against an errant ray of sunlight. "So you're saying we are going to die within days of each other? Great," Erin says lightly, drawing out the word sarcastically as she refuses to contemplate the magnitude of their relationship.

"Not any time soon, no," the black woman gives her a frustrated smirk. "I'm just saying that what you have… it _is_ deep. And that's a good thing, sweetie."

Erin smiles at the sincerity and kindness in her friend's dark eyes, but doesn't take too much comfort from her statement. "It's also scary as hell," she admits with her own smirk as she sticks the dirty screwdriver into her back pocket. "I don't know, Jacqui. Most of the time it feels like we're best friends and that he's happy with that. But I know that look that you're talking about and then I think he does want more than friendship, but he never crosses that line."

"He's a gentleman. And he's only been here two days, Erin."

"My God." Erin stops short among the tall trees and thick undergrowth of the forest. "Two days," she repeats softly, dumbfounded. "It feels like I've known him for years," she says, wondering how forty-eight hours could have stretched into what felt like a lifetime.

"Maybe he thinks you're the one that just wants to be friends. He could be waiting for you to make a move on him," Jacqui proposes when Erin catches up to her again.

"Well, then we're stuck at being BFF's because I don't know the first thing about making moves," she finishes with derogatory air quotes.

"You don't have to attack him, just let him know that you're willing to be attacked," the dark woman smiles suggestively.

"And if he's not interested?"

"Trust me – he's interested."

If only she could believe that. Erin increases her pace to catch up to the kids. "Hey, slow down guys."

The two adults close the distance when Sophia stops at a huge boulder in front of a very large white oak tree.

"Here's some mushrooms, Erin. Are they the good kind?" Sophia points toward a cluster of the funguses growing in the shade of the rock.

Erin crouches next to Jacqui to inspect the find while the two kids get distracted by a green anole lizard climbing up the base of the oak tree. Agreeing that they are indeed edible, Erin reaches to collect the mushrooms and whips her head up at the sound of a snarl coming from behind the huge boulder. Before she can react, a scream splits the air as a decomposing man in jeans and a bloody mess of a brown flannel shirt steps out from behind the tree and grabs at Sophia's delicate shoulder, growling through his fetid lips as his greasy black hair falls disheveled into his eyes.

With her heart in her throat Erin sees Carl grab the girl and then quickly turn to flee himself. When he trips over a root and lands hard on the ground at the monster's feet, Erin's heart chokes the breath from her lungs as her feet carry her forward. He reaches for her hand and for a moment Erin feels the warm flesh of his fingers against hers, along with the illusion of rescue until he is yanked out of her grasp.

When she sees the walker holding onto Carl's ankle, she doesn't hear his terrifying scream for the blood pounding in her ears. With the visceral instinct of a mama bear protecting her young, she grabs the closest weapon which turns out to be a good sized branch. Lifting it from the forest floor, she wields it like a baseball bat and swings for the biggest homerun she'd ever attempted, roaring at the beast in a mindless rage. When she connects with the skull of the putrefying male, she feels the stinging reverberation crawl up the length of her arms as a sickening tingle creeps up her spine.

The impact knocks it off its feet, causing it to release Carl's leg and giving the boy a chance to crawl into Jacqui's outstretched arms to safety.

When the thing reaches for her family again, Erin brings the club down on its head once more, and again when it still continues to move. Horrified at the realization that she is going to run out of strength with her ineffectual battering before putting it out of their misery, she remembers the rusty screwdriver in her pocket. Throwing the branch in its face, she quickly pulls the tool from her pocket and leans forward, thrusting the tip of the blade into the cloudy eye of the beast and sinking it to the handle. She jumps back immediately as it falls to the floor of the forest, dead for the last time.

She stumbles backward and lands hard on her ass but continues to crabwalk behind her, putting more distance between herself and the monster, and the unsettling knowledge that she'd killed it. She scurries and scrambles until her shoulders hit a solid form, releasing a scream from her pounding chest when a strong arm wraps around her neck.

Frantically, she tries to pull away until her terrorized mind registers Rick's face as he peers over her shoulder, crouched next to her and calming her drastically. Twisting in his arms, she flings herself against him, knocking him off- kilter.

With his legs stretched out in the dirt, he gathers her in his lap, holding her fiercely while rocking her gently. She buries her face in his neck, trembling from head to toe while he tries to assuage her fears. Through the ringing of her ears, she faintly hears his calm, smooth voice as he speaks soothing words against her hair, but the pounding of his heart against her chest tells her that he is also very shaken.

"Shhh. I've got you. Breathe, honey. Relax now, it's over." He brushes the hair off her face and lays his hand against the clamminess of her neck. "Shit, talk to me, Erin. Tell me you're okay. Take deep breaths, sweetheart, or you're going to pass out. Don't go into shock on me now," he says earnestly.

She hears his voice but can't focus enough to string words together to answer him. The only words she can conjure are _I killed him I killed him I killed him_.

Then a stern voice breaks into her guilty mantra. "Talk to me, Erin. Focus on me, baby. You tell me now. What's my name?" he asks in a tough cop voice.

Responding to the authority in his tone, she tries to focus on the man whose black tee shirt she is clutching like a lifeline as she continues to shake uncontrollably. Taking a shallow breath, she stammers, "R-rick."

"And what's my son's name?" he asks just as sternly.

"C-c-caaarl," she wails, sobbing against his neck.

"That's right, honey. And he's fine," he tells her more gently. "He's right over there with Sophia and Jacqui. They're all fine. Take deep breaths now."

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she cries until he presses her even tighter against his body. But it's still not tight enough. She can't get close enough to him to block out the horrific images replaying over and over against her closed eyelids.

"Listen to me, honey, just listen to my voice. Breathe, baby. Focus on my voice."

His voice caresses her ears as she focuses her mind on the soft soothing timbre of his gentle words.

"I've got you. It's just you and me now. Focus on me. What color are my eyes?"

She imagines his pretty eyes looking down at her. "B-blue. Bright, bright blue."

"Now remember the lake. Our lake. What color were the ducks? The baby ducks. Concentrate. I want you to smell the water in front of us as they float by. Can you see them?"

She takes a deep, calming breath and releases it heavily, the fresh smell of the lake in her nostrils. "Yes."

"What color are they?"

Eyes squeezed tight, she sees the little family of ducks gliding across the reflection of a big willow tree. "They're brown and black." She takes another deep breath. "You missed the last one," she reminds him with a hiccup, feeling a little more like herself as the ringing diminishes to a low hum in her ears and her heart begins to slow significantly.

"That's right, sweetheart. I missed him." He expels a long, unsteady breath against her hair and the realization that she is making him suffer penetrates her heart and sobers her quickly. A gentle finger lifts her chin and she looks into the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen; compassion swimming strongly in a current of profound tenderness with a touch of worry in their light blue depths.

"Better?" he asks, stroking her jaw gently.

"A little."

"Was this the first walker you've ever seen?"

She shakes her head numbly, still wretched but coherent.

"So you've seen them before?"

"Once, when I went on a run with Glenn for medical supplies." She takes another deep breath before continuing. "There were a few down the street."

"So you've never killed one before," he states more than asks as he rubs his thumb across her cheekbone, wiping away her tears.

She shakes her head slowly, miserably. "I h-have to go."

"It's okay, honey. I've got you, just hold onto me."

"No, Rick. I'm g-gonna be s-sick."

She pushes against his chest, squirming from his lap to kneel in the dirt just in time to lose her breakfast. Kneeling next to her, he gathers her long hair and holds it in a thick ponytail at the back of her neck until she's expelling nothing but dry heaves.

With her stomach completely empty, Erin sits back and wipes her mouth with the back of her wrist, feeling both emotionally and physically drained as Amy hands her a water bottle. She rinses her mouth, spitting out the sour taste and then swallows several long pulls, looking around at all her friends that had come to their aid without hesitation.

She watches Rick exchange a look with Shane who then announces that the area is clear. As relief washes over his features, she sees Rick send his son a reassuring smile as Kelly comforts the boy within a cluster of concerned adults.

Erin puts her hand in his and lets Rick help her to her feet, still feeling quite shaky as he gazes at her tenderly.

"Okay?" he asks, caressing her pale cheek. When she nods, he continues, "So now I guess I need to thank you for saving my son's life as well as my own."

With a pitiful grimace, she shoves his hand to the side, doubles over and pukes up the water that had just gone down.


	10. Chapter 10

**A** / **N Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews - please keep them coming! Now after another Rickless week, let's enjoy some time with our sexy sheriff...**

* * *

Chapter Ten

"We're not safe up here anymore," Andrea exclaims as the group gathers at the campsite, discussing the walker attack after frayed nerves have repaired themselves and hearts are beating normally once again.

Erin sits at the table with Kelly and Jacqui, a bottle of water between her hands with an opened package of saltines at her elbow, ignored after eating only one cracker. Rick stands only a few feet from the table, as if unwilling to put too much distance between the two of them, for which she is grateful. Carl and Sophia sit idly on the ground while Carol and Amy try to distract them with a game of hangman in the dirt.

"We're fine here for now," Shane argues, meeting the blonde woman's eyes and then glancing at the others assembled in the clearing, daring anyone to challenge him.

"Maybe they're running out of food in the city already," Dale says, more in conjecture than defiance.

"That guy didn't come from the city," Rick replies from his position outside the main circle. "From the way he was dressed, he was a hiker, probably got bit walking through the state parkland not far from here.

"Well there could be more like him," Andrea retorts. "I tell you, I would feel a lot safer if I was more comfortable with my dad's gun. I'm not afraid to shoot it, I just don't think I'd hit anything."

"Maybe we should have some target practice for the women. I could probably use some myself," Dale suggests as he adjusts his hat to sit lower over his eyes to shade the sun.

"It's not a bad idea but I'd also advise that nobody goes into the woods without an armed escort at all times," Rick says, looking at Shane for a sign of agreement.

"That's right. No one leaves the camp without protection," Shane agrees but Erin notices the mutinous stare he aims at Rick. "But I don't think we need all the women walking around here with loaded pistols."

"Hell no!" a raspy voice calls out from edge of the woods as Merle and Daryl enter the clearing from their morning hunt. Nikki runs straight to Erin, laying his big furry head on her lap as if he knew her soul needed to be comforted.

"What's goin' on?" Daryl asks Rick, deferring to his leadership as he drops a string of squirrels - and what looks to be a large possum - onto the ground by the fire pit. Erin's unsettled stomach churns at the sight and she looks away quickly.

"A close call with a walker in the woods," Rick summarizes for the hunter. Looking back at Shane, he says, "I'm not saying they need to be armed at all times, but if we do get attacked up here it may help if we are all capable of defending the camp. We have enough guns, might as well teach everyone how to use them."

"I don't know 'bout that. I sure as shit don't wanna get caught in friendly fire from one of these bitches," Merle declares as he moves to stand in solidarity with Shane.

"In your case, it might be _not-so_ friendly fire," Glenn mutters before Rick jumps in.

"Which is exactly why we need to teach them. So there aren't any accidents," Rick argues and Erin watches him glare at the two stubborn chauvinists and then release a frustrated breath when Ed moves closer to the circle, an obstinate glower aimed right at him.

"My wife ain't learnin' to shoot nothin'," the dour man claims, leaving no room for argument before walking over to Carol and grabbing her arm roughly to pull her up from her seat on a thick stump. "C'mon, let's go."

Erin tenses in her own seat, wanting to jump to her friend's defense but she doesn't feel strong enough at the moment to stand up to Ed. Rick meets her eyes and she gives him a pitiful shrug. He nods, knowing how she feels. _Next time._

When Carol tells her daughter to come with her after Ed mumbles something about the girl, Sophia says a short goodbye to Carl and walks quickly behind her mother, head down and shoulders slumped, twisting Erin's heart.

"If you ladies want to learn to shoot, I'll teach you myself," Rick says and then turns his attention back to Shane, challenging his partner to try to stop him. Erin sees Shane shake his head slightly but he doesn't say anything to Rick.

"Great. But where are we going to set up a range without ringing the dinner bell for every walker within three miles?" Andrea asks cynically.

"There's plenty of fields round here, Rick. I'll take ya out if ya want and we can pick the best one that's far enough away. I'll help train the girls too," Daryl offers in his quiet, unobtrusive way. God bless that man, Erin thinks with an inward smile.

"The fuck you talkin' 'bout, boy?" Merle snarls as he advances on his younger brother.

"I'm talkin' 'bout defendin' the camp!" Daryl stands up to Merle but only meets his eyes for a millisecond before looking down at the dirt at his brother's feet. "We'll need all the help we can get if we get attacked up here," he finishes with eyes raised as far as Merle's chest before glancing to his right to find Rick standing at his shoulder.

"So you can help us, or you can keep the fuck out of the way," Rick tells the aggravating redneck in no uncertain terms.

"Screw that shit," Merle retorts. "You pussies wanna waste yer time with them ho's, go right ahead. I got better things to do."

Rick takes an aggressive step forward at Merle's choice of words but stops when Daryl puts a hand on his shoulder. Erin has never seen such a weary display of resignation on the hunter's features.

"Just let him go, Rick. He's not…," Daryl pauses, as if unsure of exactly how to defend or explain his brother. "Just let him go," he repeats for lack of justification. "He won't bother us."

* * *

After a small lunch of another canned pasta meal, Erin sits on a crate at the water's edge, her pants rolled up in the same fashion as her laundry partners. An assortment of washboards and washtubs cover the beach between her and Kelly and Amy and Carol.

Erin ignores the tendrils of burning pain down her shoulders and arms as she rubs Rick's gray tee shirt against the galvanized slats of the board, happier to clean his clothes than her own, which she'll have to get to eventually. Twisting the garment and squeezing it tightly to wring the water from the fabric, she thinks of Rick driving around the area with Daryl as they search for an ideal spot for gun training. She unfurls the shirt and fights the absurd urge to hold the wet garment against her cheek, wanting to feel closer to him.

She recalls how it had felt to be in his arms when they'd played in the water with Carl; happy, valued… safe. With her thoughts drifting on a current of wet dreams – literally, she vaguely hears one of the girls complaining about menstrual cramps and tries to bring her focus back to the conversation going on around her.

She commiserates with a weak nod, glad that she doesn't experience the normal crampy bloating misery more than once every three or four months; a nice residual from her chemotherapy treatments. Of course she would have preferred to suffer through them every month if it meant she could have a baby. Though in today's circumstances it's probably just as well that she can't. And at least she won't have to worry about birth control if she ever ends up in Rick's bed.

And just like that her thoughts take her right back to the sexy sheriff. _God help me._

She shakes her head to dispel the image of his face on her pillow and nearly jumps when Kelly nudges her elbow with the word 'guns' floating on the air between them. "Sorry, what?"

"I said do you have any experience with guns?" Kelly asks.

"Oh, I've never held a gun in my life. I definitely need the training," she replies, leaning back to lay Rick's shirt on the pile of clean, wet clothes in the laundry basket on the beach, ready to be hung up for drying.

"What about you, Kel? Rick must've taught you something," Amy asks.

"Oh yeah. Shane wasn't thrilled about that either now that I recall," Kelly replies. "But Rick wanted me to learn since I lived alone. He got me a Sig 9MM that's been in my bedside drawer for years. I wish I'd thought to bring it with me when we left for the cabin. Who knew?" She shrugs a shoulder with a regretful smirk.

"Carol, you really should learn how to shoot, too," Erin says to the woman on her left as she grabs Rick's uniform pants from the dirty clothes basket. "What if you need to protect Sophia someday?"

Erin watches Carol glance quickly behind her to make sure Ed is still by the car and not within hearing distance of the dangerous conversation. "I can't, Erin. You heard him, he won't let me," she whispers in a strangely defeated, yet practical tone.

The fatalistic attitude in her friend's voice breaks Erin's heart while raising her Scottish dander at the same time. Feeling much stronger than she had been that morning, she digs her heels in and prepares to fight. "Well, too fucking bad. If you want to learn, Carol, you have every right to," she says in a slightly raised voice, not exactly shouting but clearly not trying to keep herself from being overheard. "Rick will help you," she adds in a softer tone, imploring the woman to understand the depth of what she is trying to say about his help.

Before Carol can respond, a large shadow looms over the water in front of them.

"You best shut yer mouth right now, ya hear?" Ed glares at Erin as he nudges Carol's shoulder. "C'mon. They can finish this."

"Fuck you Ed! I don't have to listen to you." Erin retorts as she gets to her feet behind Carol as her friend rises, following in her husband's wake. "And neither does Carol. It's bad enough she can't defend herself against you, give her a chance against the walkers at least."

Ed turns back to Erin with fire in his eyes. "Don't you worry 'bout my wife, you nosey little cooze. I take care of my family as I see fit. Best you remember that," he says with barely restrained fury before turning back to his wife. "Let's go."

"She doesn't have to go with you," Erin calls after the husband and wife as she follows them up the beach. Sensing movement behind her, she turns to find Kelly and Amy right on her heels, their support extremely welcome.

"It's okay, Erin." Carol says meekly over her shoulder as she continues to walk away.

"No, it's not okay, Carol," Erin calls out to her friend, frustrated that she won't let anybody help. "You don't have to listen to him. We can help you."

Ed turns back abruptly. "She don't need no help, 'specially from a uppity bitch like you," he snarls, leaning toward her threateningly. "She knows her place so you just mind yer own before I lose my temper," he finishes before turning back to Carol.

"Don't listen to him, Carol. Let us help you!" Kelly yells, pleading with their friend.

"You can't treat her like that, Ed! Let her think for herself," Amy adds as he leads his wife toward the car.

"You're a fucking coward, Ed!" Erin shouts to the man's back. "Hitting a defenseless woman half your size! Does that make you feel like a man? Is that the only way you can get your dick up?" she challenges, goading the big man as she sets her feet firmly in the sand.

He moved quick as a viper, twisting to face her and swinging his arm up across his body in one fluid strike, the back of his open hand and four thick knuckles connecting with her cheekbone.

She knew it was inevitable but it still caught her off-guard; for the speed of his assault, and for the white hot pain. Lying in the sand where he'd leveled her, her hip stings slightly from landing on a sharp rock, but the pain in her cheek outshines every other nerve ending in her body.

"I told you to shut yer mouth!"

Numbly, Erin hears several voices screaming at Ed, Carol's cries standing out the most as she pulls on her husband's arm.

Shaking her head gingerly to gather her wits, Erin gets a knee beneath her and starts to rise to her feet, praying that Ed doesn't turn his wrath on Carol. Her heart stops when she sees the seriously enraged expression on Ed's face as he draws his hand back to strike his wife. "No!" Erin yells just as a dark figure jumps between herself and the abusive man, pulling his arm back roughly before he can use it to hurt his wife.

In a hazy daze, she watches Rick swing Ed around to land hard on the shore. The deputy yanks his arm, rolling him to his back, and drives a furious fist into the man's jaw, knocking his head to the side.

"Why don't you pick on somebody your own size you fucking prick!" Another blow connects with his nose, sending a spray of blood across the sand. "How does it feel you worthless fuck!" Rick hits the man again and again, hurling his fist against flesh and bone, bruising tissue and tearing cartilage until Shane pulls him off, steadying him with a strong hand to his heaving chest.

Getting face to face with Rick to take his focus away from the bastard on the ground, Erin hears Shane say, "Enough, Rick. That's enough, man. He's done, it's over."

Rick pushes against his friend's palm but without much steam, making it easy for Shane to hold him back. "I'll fucking kill him," Rick swears, flexing his bloody hand as he looks threateningly over his partner's shoulder.

Erin feels a comforting hand on her upper arm and turns to see Daryl peering closely at her throbbing cheek. She glances to the left and notices his truck at the base of the ramp leading down to the beach and is extremely grateful for their timing. She hears a raggedly soggy 'Thucku' murmured through the split lip and loose teeth of the man on the ground and watches Shane round back on Ed.

Grabbing two fistfuls of shirt, Shane pulls Ed a few inches off the sand, bringing them nose to nose. "You touch another woman in this camp and I won't stop him next time. Do you hear me? _Do you hear me?_ " He drops the man roughly to the ground and angrily kicks the thick toe of his boot into the fleshy part of Ed's side, possibly cracking the lowest rib.

Erin sees Kelly and Amy comfort the now hysterical Carol while Ed groans in a miserable heap on the beach, his face a battered mess. She's not sure if her friend is crying because of her husband's suffering or for the years and years of suffering she had endured at his hand. Maybe it's just the overwhelming emotion one feels when finally realizing that they are not alone.

Daryl steps to the side and then Rick is in front of her, holding gentle fingers to her cheek as he examines her face. She winces slightly when he touches her cheekbone and then she is engulfed in his arms, pressed tightly to his chest as he rubs his hands across her back. She wraps her arms around his waist and feels him trembling with adrenaline as he breathes heavily against her hair.

"Are you okay?" he asks against her temple, his arms strong and comforting at her back.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she answers and feels him exhale deeply. He tightens his hold on her and she knows he is comforting himself just as much.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N Thank you Mr. Gimple for giving us our sexy sheriff back! Even though it was painful to watch Rick's interaction with Negan. Now give that man his f*cking Emmy already! And thank you again to my lovely reviewers! I really hope you guys are enjoying reading this story as much as I am with writing it. Please let me know what you think...**

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Erin wraps her fingers around Rick's forearm as he places the ice pack gently against the throbbing ache in her cheek, wincing with her when she hisses at the contact. The chill of the refrigerant sends a taste of winter down her spine, cooling her instantly against the heat inside the tent as his empathetic wince reverts back into a scowl.

"What part of 'Stay away from that guy' did you not understand?" he asks rhetorically in a tone that matches his expression, though the soft caress of his thumb across her good cheek belies the anger she knows is still roiling inside the marrow of his bloodied hand. "What the hell were you thinking, Erin?"

"I was thinking that I could show Carol what a monster her husband is," she replies somewhat defensively.

"And what makes you think she doesn't already know?" he questions, a definitive edge around the controlled calmness of his tone.

"Well, of course she knows, but I think she also has a twisted conception that she deserves his abuse," she answers. "I don't know," she continues with a resigned sigh. "I just wanted her to see him for who he really is - that he'd hurt anyone, even when they don't deserve it."

The deputy lowers his chin and raises his eyebrows, giving her an incredulous smirk.

"What? You think I deserved this?!" she asks hotly, raising her index finger from his forearm and aiming it toward the ice pack beneath his hand.

"Of course not," he says giving her a more sympathetic look as he strokes her jaw gently. "But you had to know it would come to this."

"I knew. I just didn't know he would hit so hard. Fuck, it hurt."

Watching him shake his head at her as if she were an obstinate child gets her bristly back up again. "Stop looking at me like that, Rick," she says, squeezing his arm while she tries to take a step backward.

He drops the ice pack onto Carl's cot and pulls her into his arms before she can back away from him. "Come here."

Reluctantly, she wraps her arms around his waist and lays her good cheek against his chest, relaxing as his heart beats steadily beneath her ear. "I know it was stupid. _Now_ anyway."

"Extremely stupid."

"Well, thanks for agreeing with me now, sheriff," she responds tartly.

"He could've really hurt you, Erin," he says tightly and she feels his body tense up as the constrained fury rises closer to the surface once again. She rubs the lean muscles of his back soothingly as he vibrates with vengeful energy. "Christ, I could've killed that bastard. If Shane hadn't pulled me off…," he pauses, releasing a deep breath.

"You would have stopped anyway," she tells him. "You would have," she repeats when she leans back to see him shaking his head in denial.

"I don't know. I haven't felt that kind of rage in a really long time, but it's still there. I hate that it's still there, that _he's_ still there."

A bitter ripple of guilt creeps into her heart at what her actions had forced Rick to do. She brings her hands up to rest on his chest as compassion emanates from her green eyes. "He's not there, honey. You're not your father, Rick," she says softly with a slight shake of her head. "You could never be like him." Gazing into his sad blue eyes with the shadows of pain that still breathe at the edge of his soul, her heart breaks for him.

"Don't look at me like that, Erin. I don't want your pity," he says, pulling his chin back.

Lifting her hands to his whiskered jaws before he can put too much distance between them, she bores the truth into his gaze. "I feel sorry for the boy who grew up with that asshole for a father, but I have nothing but respect for the man that boy became."

When he swallows hard, silently regarding her with a look of hopeless yearning, she lowers her eyes to his full inviting lips as the world outside their tent drifts quietly into the ether. Drawing herself up, she leans in to meet the softness of his mouth, letting her eyes fall closed in the tenderness of the moment.

The gentle pressure of his lips moving against hers wakes the flutter in her belly as a band of heat flows over her chest, igniting a spark of profound longing until he breaks the connection abruptly. He pulls back, holding her nearly at arms length.

"We can't do this, Erin."

"Oh God, I'm such an idiot," she says, covering her mouth with her hands in an effort to erase the last twenty seconds of her life. "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted… never mind." Mortified, she backs away but he tightens his hold on her shoulders.

"Stop. I do want you - you can't imagine how much I want you. But we can't do this. _I_ can't do this."

"Why not?" she says tremulously. "I don't understand." She reaches out to lay her hands against his chest in an effort to maintain their connection despite his distancing grip on her shoulders.

"Because I suck at relationships and it would only be a matter of time before I fuck things up and you end up hating me."

"I won't let you fuck it up, and I could never hate you." She clutches his shirt as she gazes up at him, hoping to convey the truth that fills her heart.

"You will, because I'll only end up hurting you. I can't take that chance," he says firmly and then his gaze softens on her. "You mean too much to me. Keeping you and Carl and Kelly safe is all that matters. I won't risk that for anything," he finishes in a more gentle tone.

She understands why he may feel that way but her willful nature refuses to make it easy for him. Squaring her shoulders, she releases his tee shirt and drops her hands from his chest. "Fine, I'll just hook up with Shane then," she declares, lightly threatening.

"That's not funny."

"No, it's sadly pathetic," she replies and squints her eyes over his shoulder as she pretends to contemplate another thought.

"You're not hooking up with Shane," Rick says as he lets go of her shoulders.

Ignoring the sense of jurisdiction that he seems to believe he's entitled to regarding her personal life, she meets his sharp blue eyes with a boldness in her soft green ones. "You're right. I think Daryl would be a better choice."

"Cut it out, Red," he responds curtly, clearly getting annoyed.

"Oh, I get it. You don't want me but you don't want anyone else to have me either. That's just priceless," she finishes with biting sarcasm.

"Come on, Erin. It's not that I don't want you. You know that I'm crazy about you and if things were different you wouldn't be able to keep me away."

"Like if we'd met three months ago?" she asks lightly in response to the softer tone of his voice.

The coolness in his eyes completely thaws and the air between them floats upon a strand of melting tension.

"You mean before I was shot and the world went to shit?" he answers, taking her hands in his and folding them against his chest.

"Yes, and technically we did meet before you were shot," she says, reminding him of that Easter morning when she had looked up frantically and seen him smile.

"Yeah, but my timing sucked. I admired the way you handled that asshole rabbit by the way."

"Thank you. And thanks for not getting me in trouble that day."

"You're welcome," he says, pulling her hands around his waist and drawing her against him.

Laying her forehead against his collarbone, she rubs his back in smooth circles and then lets her hands drift lower until her fingertips are dipping just inside the waistband of his jeans.

"Erin," he says warningly around a faint chuckle.

"Am I wearing you down yet?"

"God, you're not going to make this easy on me, are you?"

"Nope."

"Christ," he murmurs against her hair. "But we _are_ going to keep things the way they are, honey. We have to."

"Okay. But can we still snuggle by the fire at night?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Or maybe I could snuggle with Daryl."

"Still not funny."

She flinches when his fingers squeeze the back of her neck but she doesn't let up. "Glenn?" she offers, chortling against his chest which earns her another squeeze.

"Keep it up, Red."

"Ow!" she cries, laughing as she shrugs her shoulders against the hand wrapped around her neck. In that instant, she knows that she would rather settle for laughing with him like this than being intimate in the biblical sense with anyone else. For now, that's enough.

"Now do you think you could stay out of trouble if I leave you alone for half an hour to go talk to Dale about setting up target practice?"

"I don't know. What's Merle doing right now?" she teases, looking up at his handsome face.

In response to the dubious smirk he gives her she says, "Don't worry, I'm not looking for any more fights today. You can talk to Dale while I sit here and twiddle my thumbs obediently." Her smile drips with sarcasm as she steps back and then catches his battered right hand as it falls from her shoulder. "But first, let me take care of this." She turns his hand over and presses her lips to the center of his palm before reaching for the medical kit, smiling to herself when she hears his breath catch at the touch of her lips on his skin.

* * *

A soft breeze stirs the still air as the sun makes its way down, relinquishing the day for the moon to take over as sentinel for the night. The camp is humming with lively energy as the group prepares a dinner of possum stew. Jibes and jests fly back and forth as they recall the many hits and a lot more misses that took place at the gun training session that afternoon. Despite the teaching skills of the leaders, a good amount of bottles and cans had survived unscathed at the rudimentary firing range that Rick and Daryl had created at the edge of the clearing near Proctor Creek.

The lighthearted atmosphere is diminished only slightly when Shane joins them, throwing his own half-joking insults into the mixture while the group as a whole ignores Merle completely with his tactless barbs.

Erin hands Rick a bottle of water and drops into the chair next to him, exhaustion settling in quickly as the emotional and physical events of the day catch up with her. Looking across the campfire she sees Carol emerge from her tent with Sophia. She watches Carol turn back to speak through the door flap and Erin prays that her husband remains inside the tent where he'd been since the fight with Rick earlier. She releases an anxious breath when the Pelletier women come to the large fire alone, asking if they can join in and offering their assistance with the meal.

Erin looks up at her friend standing before her, a touch of sorrow, remorse and a bit of apprehension filling her light blue eyes. "Of course. God, we'd love to have you with us," Erin replies warmly with an enthusiasm that she's helpless to contain. As Carol fills the chair next to her, she smiles in gratitude for her friend's presence after worrying about the state of their relationship all afternoon.

"So how was gun training?" Carol asks quietly.

"It was fun actually," Erin replies, trying to ignore the habitual look of caution that Carol had thrown toward the vicinity of her husband when asking the question. "Maybe you'll go with us next time," she adds, treading lightly around the subject that had started the whole debacle earlier.

"Maybe," Carol responds somewhat confidently, a glimmer of bravery shining through the two syllables.

Erin expels a sigh of relief that their friendship is still intact, and that Carol may be ready to start moving toward the hope of a future with more support from her friends, and less abuse from her husband.

A short time later, as metal forks clatter against plastic plates creating the comfortingly domestic sound of a large family dinner, easy conversation flows around bites of surprisingly tender meat and an assortment of canned vegetables.

"I can't believe how good this is Daryl. I never would've thought possum could be so tasty," Dale says after swallowing another mouthful of the marsupial.

"Please, stop reminding me what I'm eating. I'm trying not to picture his round little eyes and tiny pink nose," Amy says glumly with her fork paused halfway to her mouth. "I was just getting used to the squirrels without seeing their faces in every bite I took."

"Just pretend it's filet mignon from a restaurant," Andrea suggests lightly as she gives her sister an encouraging smile. "That's what I'm doing."

"I'd rather pretend it's a giant slice of apple pie smothered in whipped cream," Amy replies, lowering the fork back to her plate.

"Ooh, that sounds good but I really miss my cheesecake," Carol says around a spoonful of vegetables.

"Not me, I want my hot… fudge... sundae. Mmm, mmm…," Jacqui adds and continues in a slow, silky voice, "I miss popping that juicy cherry into my mouth, sucking the cold vanilla ice cream on my tongue and savoring the warm chocolate syrup as it oozes down my throat," the black woman finishes in a thick sultry tone.

"God, I've never had a dessert that sounded that erotic," Kelly says wistfully as all the men shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Erin closes her eyes, getting lost in the sensual nature of the conversation. "Mmmm, I miss my vibrator," she adds softly then opens her eyes quickly when Rick sprays a mouthful of water across his lap, coughing and sputtering as his cheeks glow a deeper red than any of the embers crackling above the fire. She turns toward her deputy, patting his back to clear his lungs and leans in close to his ear. "Stick that in your dreams tonight, sheriff."

"What?" Sophia asks innocently from the other side of the fire. "What do you miss, Erin?"

Erin clears her throat loudly, grateful that nobody but Rick had heard her bold remark. "I said I miss my coffee maker, sweetie," she tells the young girl as Rick mutters a desperate plea to The Almighty as he buries his face in his hands.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

"So have you had any luck getting through to your friend yet?"

Rick looks up from his coffee mug as Kelly pushes the walkie across the table, making room for her crossword puzzle book as she takes the seat across from him.

It's been six days since he'd left Morgan and Duane and the inability to communicate with his friend weighs more heavily on his heart each morning that he hears nothing but static over the airwaves. The only consolation is knowing that the signs he'd put up leading to the quarry were still up as of yesterday, according to Glenn after he'd gone on another supply run with T-Dog.

"Nah, still nothing but static so I don't know if he's hearing me or not," Rick tells his sister, brows drawn together with concern as he absently picks at a jagged chip in the casing on the side of the walkie talkie. "But he should be on the road today or tomorrow and he'll see the signs," he adds, sounding more confident than he'd felt.

Knowing the dangers that lurk between the camp he has settled into and the neighborhood that Morgan is holed up in a few hours away, Rick puts his faith into the wisdom and resourcefulness of his friend to reach the old quarry safely.

As the early morning dew becomes late morning humidity, he shrugs irritably beneath his clinging white tee shirt and takes another sip of warm coffee. He closes his eyes as he swallows the dark brew, willing the caffeine to permeate his bloodstream after another sleepless night lying next to Erin - and waking up hot and hard with delicious dreams floating in the dissipating mist of early consciousness.

He thinks of switching tents with Shane. Wait – no, definitely not his old partner. Maybe Glenn, he could trust Glenn. _Who am I kidding?_ Deep down, he knows he wouldn't sleep any better if she weren't lying within a few feet of his easy reach. To sleep at all, he needs the solace that she breathes into him; she is the calm in the center of his tumultuous life.

But he doesn't need the thoughts of her straddling him with her creamy white thighs when he sees the moonlight shining on the long leg that kicks out from her covers, her foot reaching toward his mattress as if she's trying to connect with him even in her sleep. Or imagining what her glossy hair would feel like drifting against his bare chest in silky caresses as he clutches her to him and fills her sweet mouth with his tongue. Or the notion of how incredible it would be to cover her body with his and bury himself so deeply inside of her that they would lose all perception of where he ended and she began.

He certainly doesn't need the way she sleeps with her mouth slightly open, inviting him in to discover the wondrous places of her flesh. Christ, last night when the tip of her soft pink tongue had come out to lick the curve of her lower lip, his cock did an Irish fucking jig. After finally falling asleep with the rumination of slipping in and out of that beautiful mouth, he'd woken up harder than he'd ever been since graduating junior high school. It was even worse than yesterday. And yesterday was nearly unbearable.

He'd watched her doing her morning stretches from what he thought was a safe distance. He was mistaken. He was still close enough to feel the heat of searing desire as she reached her arms over her head to reveal the smooth plane of her lower back beneath the hem of her tank top. Still close enough that his heart couldn't help but beat a quickened rhythm of yearning when she twisted her hips to highlight the slope of her perfect breast. And still close enough to grow uncomfortably hard when she bent at the waist to underscore the curve of her incredible ass as it swayed like a wet daydream in her skin tight yoga pants. If he hadn't seen her walk behind the camper with Amy for their usual morning exercise ritual, he would have thought she was doing it solely to torture him.

But he's kept his promise of snuggling by the fire each night and he'll continue to do so, though it's an even worse torture from a completely different beast; the feel of her soft curves pressed against his ribs as they melt into each other on the car seat bench, so sweet and good and right as they listen to the crickets chirp and watch the smoke drift up into the blue-black sky. It makes him hurt that much more for what they might have - but what could never come to be. Not as long as he stays strong enough for both of them. She means too much to him to take a chance of jeopardizing their relationship, even if that relationship only consisted of innocent snuggling and brief touches of passing fingertips.

She never misses an opportunity to touch him, even if it's just a brush of her fingers on his arm as they walk past each other. To be honest, he's guilty of that himself, reaching out to her as much as she reaches to him. It's like their bodies can't go more than an hour without needing a quick fix; a brief touch, a light caress. Mindless, but extraordinarily meaningful in the same breath.

And the way their bodies cannot give in to sleep without actually seeing the other laying barely an arm's length away. He loved how she always tended to face him, no matter what position she was in, whether asleep or awake. She would start out lying on her side at the edge of her mattress closest to him and would eventually turn to her back or stomach. But even then, even in sleep, her face would be turned toward him and shining like a radiant beacon to bring him home on a dark and stormy night.

He knows he would sleep better if he'd lie on his left side, facing Carl's cot and closing his eyes to the image of Erin's lovely face with her hands folded beneath her chin as she dreams. But he watches her for what could be minutes or hours, the seconds bleeding into and over each other in the fuzziness of time as he gets wrapped up in an all-consuming want.

And when his eyes become too heavy to watch her any longer, he can't keep the vividly erotic dreams from invading his sleep. Beautiful, sensuous, steamy dreams that could never come true. Thankfully they never take place at the lake, _their lake_ , and she hasn't mentioned any dreams to him so he believes that these hidden indulgences are his and his alone.

If they weren't - she'd never settle for snuggling by the fire.

"Hey Dad, look what me and Sophia found!"

His son's exuberant voice brings him out of his fervent thoughts and quickly diminishes the warm flow of blood stirring his nuts inside his tightening blue jeans. He opens his eyes and turns to see a large turtle in the palm of Carl's hand. "What've you got there, guys?"

"We're naming him Terry. Isn't he cool, Aunt Kelly?" The boy lifts his hand higher and Rick leans back from the pungent, earthy smell that blocks out the aroma of his coffee. He nods a greeting at Carol when she comes up behind her daughter.

She's seemed a little… lighter, he thinks, over the last few days and Rick is happy to see her cheerful smile as she absently strokes Sophia's shoulder. He was afraid that he may have made things worse for Carol if Ed decided to take his anger out on his wife. Thank God the man has been keeping to himself lately, sticking close to his tent and remaining quiet even when his girls are inside with him.

"Oh, he's a beauty, alright," Kelly replies, smiling at the two kids but keeping her distance across the table.

"Where's Erin?" Sophia asks, looking around the camp. "We want to show her too."

"She went back to the tent a little while ago because she wasn't feeling great," Rick says, wishing he could make her better. Wishing a lot of things. "Just go in quietly, okay."

* * *

Erin feels another bead of sweat dripping down the back of her neck into her yellow tee shirt and prays for a cool breeze - among other things. Thank God she had put her hair up in a loose ponytail before getting herself into this predicament. If only she had swallowed some aspirin before too. The occasional breeze through the mesh door is heavenly against her sweaty nape but her head is still pounding and her legs are achingly numb. If only she could reach the bottle of Tylenol that had rolled under Carl's cot, but she can't risk it.

She rubs her hand slowly over the soft material of the black capri yoga pants covering her left thigh. She tries to wiggle her toes of the leg folded beneath her and stops when a sharp pain shoots up her shin at the slightest movement.

She can possibly wiggle the toes of her bent right leg a little easier, but doesn't want to draw attention to the low-cut white sock covering her foot.

Hearing two young voices outside the tent, she glances up to see Carl and Sophia through the mesh door, approaching quickly. _Oh God_. She had been praying for someone to come – anyone – but maybe she should have been more specific in her prayers to single out the elder Grimes. Okay, they are slowing down, talking quietly. It's going to be alright now.

When Carl stops at the doorway and softly calls her name, it takes all the strength she has not to scream to him. With more control than she would have thought possible as her heart races on, she speaks in a soft, monotone, non-threatening voice. "Carl, don't come in here, don't move, just listen to me carefully. I need you to get your father and Daryl. Tell them there's a rattlesnake about ten inches from my foot."

"Oh my God."

"Listen, honey. Take five big steps slowly and then you run to get them, okay?" she says delicately without taking her eyes off of the snake and its rattling tail.

"Okay. Are you gonna be okay, Erin?" Carl whispers, his voice trembling slightly.

She feels terrible for causing him to worry. "I will be as soon as your dad gets here." She smiles at him reassuringly. "Five slow steps to start. Now go."

She counts only twenty-two seconds until she hears Rick's voice telling Carl to stay back with Kelly and not to let anyone get close to the tent.

* * *

Walking slowly, stealthily the last few feet to reach the tent flap, Rick silently signals to Daryl with a nod toward the mesh window on the left side of the tent.

As the hunter moves to the window, Rick looks through the netting of the door. "Oh, Christ." His heart stops at the vision before him; Erin crouched on the floor near the head of Carl's cot… right knee bent at a sharp angle while she sits on her left leg curled beneath her, left arm on the cot, right hand holding her exposed shin… less than a foot away from an agitated rattlesnake coiled up under the head of the cot.

"Fuck that's a big one," Daryl says, quietly loading his crossbow.

"Can you get it?" she asks in a nervous monotone.

"Oh yeah, gonna have us a nice soup tonight," Daryl says lightly for Erin's benefit but the look he gives Rick is not as comforting.

 _Shit._ Rick meets Daryl's eyes as the hunter steps soundlessly toward him at the entrance. "Can you get it?" he whispers, for Erin's sake as much as the snakes, not wanting to upset either one.

"It's a little tight with her leg right there," Daryl replies in the same subdued tone, "but if you can pull her out of the way, I can take the shot from here."

Not the best solution he'd hoped for but they'll have to make it work. _Please God._ "Okay," he says softly, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans. "On my count and you shoot on three."

"On three," Daryl repeats with a confirming nod.

"Alright, hold still, honey, we're coming in," Rick says, trying to keep the tremors from his own voice.

"I'm not going anywhere." She looks up to meet his eyes and the fear he sees on her beautiful face weighs heavily on his chest.

He slides the zipper up its jagged seam with infinitesimal moves. "Sweetheart, how long have you been like that?"

"Too long. I can't feel my legs at all."

"Don't worry, We'll get you out of there." He slowly steps over the threshold and moves to the left to stand by his mattress, keeping a safe distance so as not to upset the snake. Little by little he moves along the floor until he is standing by the far wall, about four feet from Erin. His throat tightens at the dark patch of damp yellow tee shirt sticking to the center of her back. _Hang on, baby. It's almost over._ Glancing to his right, he sees Daryl standing just inside the door, lowering himself into a crouch as he raises the crossbow to his eye.

"Take my hand, honey," Rick says softly, extending his arm very slowly. "You're gonna have to reach back for it so I can pull you out."

She turns her head toward him in a painstakingly slow swivel. When she releases her shin to reach back for his hand in an even more gradual manner, it's all he can do to keep from jumping forward and pulling her into his arms.

The tips of their fingers touch and he slowly releases a long-held breath. "One," he says to his partner, ever so gently. He slides his hand further out to line his palm with hers, preparing to grip it for all he's worth. "Two."

Before he can inhale for the final count, the snake lunges and an arrow flies, embedding itself into the viper's body, but not before it sinks its venomous fangs into Erin's right shin.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N I hope everyone had a lovely holiday weekend (here in the U.S. anyway) and I will be extremely thankful to see our sexy sheriff back on my TV next Sunday. I love Tara but I'm going thru serious Rickdrawals! Many thanks to those who have taken the time to leave a review. They mean a lot to me. Enjoy...**

* * *

"Ahh!" Erin screams in pain as Rick lurches forward to pull her up from the floor and away from the snake. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, it hurts!" She whimpers against his chest as he lifts her in his arms.

"Daryl!" Rick yells over Erin as the snake continues to slither in a small arc around the arrow impaling it to the floor by the cot.

Grabbing a knife from his belt, Daryl rushes toward the snake and slices the head clean off. He kicks it away and quickly moves to the side so Rick can reach the cot with Erin.

With his heart racing and a thick ball of fear in his throat, Rick lays her on the cot and puts his mouth to the two small puncture marks on her shin. He squeezes the skin surrounding the bite and sucks in a mixture of bitter toxin and the metallic taste of blood – her blood. _Oh God._

Trying not to panic, knowing that he has to keep her calm, he focuses on the venom and sucks deeply to pull the poison from her body. Before it can slip down his throat, he turns his head and spits onto a pair of sweatpants lying on the floor next to Carl's bed.

Erin presses the heels of her hands into her eyes as a band of excruciating pain radiates up her shin."Oh, God."

"Sit up, honey! You've got to keep your heart above the bite," Rick says more forcefully than intended as he pulls her sock from her foot and then lays his mouth over the wound again.

She removes the fists from her eyes and pushes up onto her elbows as Daryl ties a bandana around her calf, a few inches above the wound.

"Not too tight, Daryl," Rick says after spitting into the sweatpants again. "We don't want to cut the circulation completely, we just want to slow it down."

When Rick sees her left leg pumping franticly as he draws out another ounce of fluid, he looks up to see her head thrown back and her chest heaving. Releasing one hand from her right leg, he clamps down on her left knee, holding it still against the mattress as he empties his mouth. "Don't move, Erin! You've got to keep still, sweetheart," he adds in a gentler tone. "Daryl, put some more pillows behind her." He takes another strong sip from the punctures. "Just relax, honey," he says in the most soothing voice he can muster with his heart beating out of his chest. "You need to stay calm."

"Easy for you to say," she replies, clawing at the sheets beneath her hands as Daryl guides her back to rest against a soft stack of pillows.

"I know, baby. Just hang in there. Deep breaths, in and out."

"You know they say sucking the venom doesn't help much. You'll just end up hurting yourself," she says tightly as he lowers his mouth again.

"Do you have any antivenin?" he asks irritably after spitting more poison, tasting less of the bitterness this time.

"No."

"Then we don't have a choice." He continues to squeeze, suck and spit. "Just stay calm. It won't spread far as long as you don't move."

"I'm trying," she says with a grimace before inhaling deeply through her nose. "Daryl, go get that bottle of whiskey from the RV," she adds after exhaling through her mouth.

"Is this the right time for a party?" the hunter asks from the foot of the bed, shifting restlessly on the balls of his feet.

"It's for me," Rick replies between sucks.

"To rinse his mouth," Erin adds shortly. "The alcohol will help kill the bacteria that this idiot is sucking in."

"Got it." Daryl replies quickly and moves toward the door.

"Get some soap and a couple of water bottles too!" Rick calls before his friend steps out."Hurry!"

"God, every time I imagined your mouth on my body, this is not what I had in mind." She hisses through the pain and fights the urge to twist her body as Rick holds her leg in a death grip.

"How's your throat? Are you breathing okay?" he anxiously asks after spitting a final time and moving to the head of the cot.

"Yeah, my throat isn't swelling up."

"Do we have Benadryl just in case?" he asks, tenderly brushing her hair from her forehead with trembling fingers.

"Yeah, it's in the kit, but I'm okay. It just really fucking hurts."

"I know, honey." He presses his lips to her forehead then turns to retrieve the beige tackle box which stores their medical supplies, tucked in the corner by her mattress. He lifts the large case as Dale appears in the doorway of the tent holding a dark bottle of whiskey and two clear bottles of spring water.

"Daryl said you needed this?" Dale says, breathing heavily as if he had run.

"Thanks." Rick grabs the dark bottle from the older man and moves past him to stand just outside the tent. He twists the cap off and fills his mouth, swishing the fiery liquid and then spitting it out in the grass.

"How is she doing?" Dale asks softly, out of Erin's earshot.

"She's gonna be fine," Rick replies, taking another swig.

"Really?" the older man asks, sounding a bit surprised.

Leveling Dale with a stern glare, Rick spits out the whiskey and gives the man a definitive "Yes." He just wishes he could believe that himself.

"Rick!"

Rick wipes his mouth with the back of a fist as he turns toward Daryl's voice. He sees a clear plastic bottle of hand soap in the man's outstretched palm and takes one more sip of the alcohol, swallowing it down before handing the whiskey to his friend and grabbing the soap dispenser. "Thanks," he says on a husky breath. Turning to Dale again, he collects the water bottles from the gray-haired man and steps back inside the tent with Daryl following close behind.

"Alright, Red, we're just gonna clean it up a bit." Rick gives her an encouraging smile despite the hammering of his heart. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he kneels next to the cot once more. "How are you doing, honey?"

"Never better," she replies sarcastically with her eyes squeezed tight against the pain as she tries not to move.

"That's my girl." He pumps a large dollop of soap into one palm and then cups his hands and turns toward the hunter. "Daryl, just pour a little water for me, would you." With the water added, he rubs his hands together thoroughly until he forms a thick, foamy lather and places a cold soapy hand against the red puncture marks, rubbing the suds into her heated skin.

"Don't you need some kind of heavy duty ointment?" Dale asks from the doorway. "Soap and water doesn't seem like much against snake venom."

"We just need to clean the site so it doesn't get infected. Nothing we can do about the venom inside now." Rick looks at Erin when her breath catches. "But as long as she keeps still, it won't travel too deep," he quickly adds as she opens her eyes to look at him."And we'll give you a shot of penicillin. We have some, right?"

"Yeah, there's amoxicillin in the kit."Erin closes her eyes again, causing two salty tears to slip down her cheeks.

"Will that help?" Daryl asks.

"Fangs carry a lot of bacteria which can cause an infection at the puncture site. The antibiotic will help fight that," Rick says, reaching for a folded tee shirt on top of Carl's duffel bag at the foot of the cot. Using the clean shirt as a towel, he dries his hands and grabs gauze, tape and a tube of Neosporin from the medical kit.

"You learn all this on the job?" Daryl asks as he quietly watches the sheriff dry Erin's shin gently with a strip of gauze.

"No, my grandfather," Rick replies, gliding a fingertip of antibiotic cream over the bite marks. "He loved to grill me on wilderness safety shit when we were out fishing. I guess it actually sunk in, thank God. When was your last tetanus shot?" he asks Erin as he places a large gauze pad over the wound.

"Only four years ago."

"That's good." Nodding his head, he presses a length of clear first aid tape tightly over the top edge of the bandage. When he finishes securing all four edges of the gauze, he reaches into the medical supplies for a syringe and the vial labeled amoxicillin. "Okay, we've got to do this real slow now. Keep your leg as still as possible and twist your hip just enough so I can get your pants down."

"Oh, if only I could enjoy this more," she groans with a smirk and a small sniffle. "Why does it have to hurt so damned much."

He chuckles softly at her flirtatious remark, happy that she is well enough to still tease him. "Nice and easy now," he says soothingly with a strong hand guiding her hip. Looking down at the syringe, a crease forms between his brows. "Shit. How do I do this, Red?"

Lying at an angle, she turns her head back toward him. "First you have to sterilize the top of the vial. Here, give me the syringe. I can do this part." She opens her palm out to him and he hands her the instrument.

"It's a good thing I'm not allergic to penicillin," she murmurs between concentrated breaths as he wipes the top of the medicine vial with an alcohol pad. "Okay, give me the vial." After inserting the needle and pulling the plunger back to the line indicating one hundred milliliters, her shaky hand taps the barrel to dispel any air bubbles as a calloused hand slides the waistband of her pants down to expose a good portion of her backside.

A coldness against her rump combats the painful heat crawling into her belly as Rick rubs another alcohol pad over a fleshy portion of her buttocks. She hands the syringe to him, the tip of the needle pointed up and glistening malevolently at her. "I guess this is payback for all the pain I caused with your stitches, huh? Just do it quick."

Looking at the tent wall, she feels jab of pain a moment _before_ he replies, "I will."

"Ooh!" A burning sensation blossoms beneath her flesh as the medicine is absorbed into the tissue. She clenches her teeth until he finally pulls the needle out, and sighs in relief when she feels his thumb rubbing over the spot soothingly before he pulls her pants up again. "Okay, we're even."

"Hardly," he mutters, guiding her hip slowly to lie flat again.

He hands the syringe to Daryl and grabs a thick roll of ace bandage from the kit. "If you can't keep it still, I'll have to put a splint on your leg. But we'll try this for now," he says, weaving the bandage under the cot and over her legs a few times to prevent her from moving.

"I'll keep it still," she replies, her teeth chattering slightly as she meets his eyes.

He doesn't know if she's shaking from fear or shock or from the venom coursing through her body, but he clenches his own trembling hands and grabs the blanket from his mattress. He covers her completely, tucking the hem of the navy blue blanket underneath her chin as he settles in a crouch near her shoulder.

"I really thought a walker would get me before the cancer did. Who would've guessed it would be a stupid snake?" She laughs tightly, tears spilling down her cheeks as a firestorm burns up her leg. "God it hurts."

"Nothing's getting you yet, so stop talking like that," he says, stroking her hair tenderly and fighting the tears that want to form behind his own eyes.

"This is bad, Rick. Isn't it?" Her bright eyes shimmer with pain as she tries to take deep calming breaths.

"No, honey." He shakes his head and swallows hard. "Only a small percentage of bites are fatal."

Despite the confidence in his tone, she sees her own fears mirrored in the shadows of his eyes. "Rick?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he answers softly as his thumb continues to caress her forehead.

"My toes feel funny and I have a weird taste in my mouth."

"Shhh… Just keep still now." He kisses her temple, holding his lips to her skin for several moments as he fights hard to hold back his own tears.

"Stay with me."

"I'm not going anywhere." He leans his head against hers and they both close their eyes, blocking out the agony on the other's features. "I'm right here."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N** ** **I can't believe we are at the mid-season finale already! I just hope we have more time with Rick next week. Jeffrey Dean Morgan is fantastic (I've never loved and hated a character SO much!) but I need my Rick Fix badly! For now I'll just keep him busy with Erin at the beginning of the turn.** Many thanks to my reviewers (Bluecrush – I love you, Over and out!) and a very warm thank you to Emma for helping Erin and I with our nursing skills. Please keep the reviews coming! :)  
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Erin opens her eyes and squints against the afternoon sunlight spilling into the tent through the mesh windows. She moves her head slightly to the right and winces as a sharp pain beats wickedly against her temples to override the dull ache at the back of her skull - the simple headache that she had woken up with this morning. She comes fully awake with a groan and a hiss as her body shivers with fevered chills and her heart beats ferociously inside her chest.

"Hey."

Rick's deep voice is comforting, and very close. She opens her eyes further to see him sitting on an overturned crate right next to the cot, an expression of deep concern darkening his handsome face. His voice drifts further away and she fights to keep her eyes open, to keep him in her sights. She tries to focus on the pretty blue surrounding the large black pupils of his gaze, but keeps getting distracted by the fullness of his bottom lip as he mouths her name from an unfathomable distance.

She forces her eyes open after her heavy lids had apparently fallen closed again. His voice is closer now, tinged with authority and pulling her toward him.

"Erin. Look at me, sweetheart."

She assembles her disjointed thoughts and concentrates on the sound of his voice and the comforting pressure of his palm against her forehead. She looks into his smiling blue eyes. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"A few hours, it's almost three o'clock now. How are you feeling?"

"Glenn needs to go on a run," she says tiredly. "Before it gets too dark."

"Why? What do we need?" he asks, sounding immediately alert and quietly alarmed.

"More antibiotic." She winces again at an ache in her lower back. "I'm pretty sure I'm getting septic."

"Shit. That's an infection in the blood, right?" His face falls and she feels bad for upsetting him.

"Yeah. I think the infection is spreading and it's starting to overwhelm my immune system."

"So we'll give you another shot of penicillin," he says quickly as he turns toward the medical kit. "I know there's more-,"

"It won't help," she cuts him off, trying to stay focused long enough to explain what she needs. "I need a different antibiotic. Clindamycin."

"And we don't have that?"

"No. Only thing I found before was the amoxicillin."

"Daryl!" Rick calls loudly and the hunter steps into the tent a moment later. He must have been lurking just outside, staying close for Rick or herself she didn't know. Probably for both of them.

"Yeah?" Daryl asks quickly, eager to help.

"Go get Glenn. I need him to go on a run," the sheriff says urgently as he moves to grab a bottle of water from the foot of the cot.

"Got it." Daryl disappears and a few muffled shouts are heard outside the tent as he searches for Glenn's whereabouts.

Erin watches Rick unscrew the cap from the water bottle as he takes his seat on the crate again. "Here, you need fluids, right? To flush your system?"

She opens her mouth as he gently tilts her head toward the bottle, "An IV drip would be better," she says after letting a couple of ounces of water slip down her throat.

"Keep going. A little more, honey." He angles the bottle toward her mouth again.

"Too much and I'm just going to throw it up," she tells him weakly as her stomach churns, unsettled from the infection coursing through her bloodstream.

"Just one more sip then. We'll go slow but we've got to get this in you."

"There's a bottle of Gatorade in Carl's backpack. It'll be better for me," she adds, blinking her heavy eyelids to stay awake.

He finds the blue drink and unscrews the cap before holding it up to her lips. She swallows a mouthful and looks up as Glenn appears in the doorway, breathing heavily.

"Rick, where do you need me to go?"

"A pharmacy or doctor's office. Someplace you can find an antibiotic called…" Rick looks at Erin for the name of the drug.

"Clindamycin. Or even cephalexin." She spells them out for Glenn as Rick guides her head to fall back onto the pillow.

"I've already checked every drug store and doctor's office around here," Glenn informs them. "There's not much left out there, Rick."

"Fuck. There's got to be a place that people didn't clean out."

"Me and T-Dog could go house to house and check medicine cabinets but it'll take a while."

 _I don't have a while._ Erin closes her eyes as her mind takes one step back into the swampy murkiness of lethargy again. She forces her brain to shake the muddy waters like a wet Labrador retriever and focuses on Rick; the tilt of his head as he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, the thick waves of his dark hair - mussed and unruly from running his anxious fingers through it all morning, and the angle of his brows as he tries to formulate a plan.

She can practically see the gears turning inside his head as he compels himself to think… to decipher… to solve the puzzle that is put in front of him and come out the victor. When he looks up suddenly, she smiles softly as she imagines the proverbial lightbulb shining brightly behind his eyes.

"That's it!" Rick looks at Glenn with newfound hope.

"What?"

"My grandfather."

"I don't think he can help us now," Glenn responds with a dry look.

"What about him, Rick?" Erin asks weakly, trusting in his instincts and curious to see what solution his mind had come up with.

"My grandfather had a ton of medications in his cabinet before he died."

"Again, can't help us now," Glenn echoes with a frown.

"He can't, but others can," Rick replies quickly. "There's gotta be an old folk's home around here somewhere. I bet they would have a good supply of all kinds of drugs."

"And most people won't think of it so it's probably not looted yet," Glenn adds with a nod of his head.

"Daryl! Go get the phonebook!"

* * *

Despite the coolness in the tent with the setting sun, Rick feels his white tee shirt sticking to his lower back as the heat from Erin's fevered body seems to soak directly into every one of his pores. He lies on top of the blanket, curled into her left side as she fades in and out of consciousness beneath the covers. Incoherent murmurs and lethargic pleas mix with whimpers of pain and fearful despair that break his heart and make him feel utterly helpless.

When she mutters something about being cold, he squeezes her closer against him, comforting her as well as himself with his chin on her shoulder, forehead against her cheek, arm slung across her midsection and his left leg draped across her thighs, keeping her immobile and trying to get his own heat into her trembling body.

It's been several hours since Glenn and T-Dog left and every minute seems to be going far too quickly and, at the same time, way too slow. When Rick had checked her wound about a half hour ago he didn't like the way her bruised shin had become deeply red and badly swollen. He'd changed the dressing and removed the ace bandage after she had promised to keep still on her own.

Now, completely exhausted from the last few sleepless nights and the terrifying events of the day, with the sound of her soft erratic breathing filling his ears and her intense body heat enveloping him like a shroud of molten lava, he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep…

 _Shades of caramel and copper marbled granite form a wide shelf around the large tub nestled into one corner of the spacious bathroom. An array of candles of various shapes and sizes spread soft flickering light across the taupe colored walls, gently caressing the smooth texture of the paint. A wide window sits high on the wall overlooking the tub, slightly opened to the night air and its cricket song. A soft breeze stirs the delicate fronds of the healthy fern sitting atop a decorative shelf beside the pedestal sink. Smooth brass rhythms of Herb Alpert drift in from the CD player in the bedroom to accompany the melodious crickets._

 _Rick inhales a lungful of the humid air and breathes in the light scent of waxy vanilla sweetness mixed with the flowery perfume of the lavender bubble bath. He treasures the blissfully relaxed smile spreading across Erin's beautiful face as he holds her foot to his chest and massages the smooth arch just above the fragrant bubbles. "I've never been one for baths, but I have to say - I could really get used to this," he says as he watches her sink deeper into the steamy water across from him with a husky moan._

" _Mmm…, this is the best part of my townhouse. And now it's even better having you here with me."_

" _This may be even better than our lake," he says, pressing his thumb into the center of her instep and rubbing a path to her heel._

" _No, I love the lake. It's so pretty and peaceful there. And I know how important it is to you."_

" _Yeah, but this is really cozy with the candles and everything. Too bad we can't stay here."_

" _Who says we can't? Just me and you, no more worrying about strange viruses and being attacked by people who have no business walking around with a dead heart."_

" _You know we can't stay here, honey. This isn't real."_

" _Mmm…, feels pretty real to me." She rubs her free foot against his hip and gives him a look that promises all kinds of wonderful._

 _He drops a hand to catch her ankle when her heel slides over his thigh toward his groin. "Yes, it does feel real. Too real and so damned good, but you know we have to get back to the others. Carl and Kelly are waiting for us."_

" _I know, but I don't want to go back. So much pain and misery back there. I like it here. My leg doesn't hurt here." She wiggles her toes against his chest where he now has both feet held captive. "Please stay with me," she says sleepily as she sinks further into the water, her chin just above the fragrant bubbles. "I'm so tired, Rick."_

 _He watches her eyes flutter closed and in the depths of his soul he feels her drifting into that evasive space between rainbows and reality. He tugs gently on her ankles to pull her back to their conversation, back to him. "You can't go to sleep here, sweetheart." When she doesn't stir, his back straightens with concern as a shard of fear trickles into his spine. "Come on, baby, wake up. It's time to go back now, Red." When she still doesn't respond, the shard thickens into a steel rod of terror that pierces his heart. Fuck. "Erin!"_

"Erin!" Rick's scream hangs on the dry air inside the tent as the humidity of the cozy bath fades away. As the evening sun sits just above the treetops, shadows linger in the corners beyond the narrow bunk, ready to slink their way inward with the coming of night.

He bolts upright on the cot and pulls the blanket from the still form of the woman lying next to him. Putting two fingers to her neck and his ear to her chest, he ignores his own pounding heart as he tries, and fails, to detect even a faint thump from hers. "No, no, no," he utters with his heart in his throat as he quickly moves her to the hard floor of the tent, praying that he's not too late.

Tilting her head back and pinching her nostrils closed, he covers her mouth with his and blows two deep breaths into her prone form. He watches her chest rise and then return to an unhealthy stillness. "Come on, baby. Don't do this to me." With trembling fingers he pulls her tee shirt up to her collarbone, places his hands on her sternum and begins compressions. "Come on, Red. You can't leave me like this." A trickle of sweat threatens to drip into his eye and he shakes his head quickly, keeping his elbows locked and hands clasped as he presses hard against her overheated skin and the thin band of soft material in the center of her bra. "Breathe, baby."

After thirty compressions and no response, he breathes into her mouth again. Her cheeks puff and her chest rises with the precious air that he gives her, but her traumatized body remains still and lifeless. _Oh God._

"Dammit, Erin, you can't leave me here!" Positioning his hands against her chest again, he rocks a swift steady tempo to another thirty count, willing her heart to beat beneath the driving force of his muscles and the desperate yearning of his own thrashing heart. "Come on, baby. Come back to me."

Bending over Erin once more, he seals his lips to hers and blows with every vital ounce of his being, refusing to let her ignore the breath he so desperately wants to give her. He inhales deeply after the first breath and then covers her mouth again. As he begins to force more oxygen into her motionless body, he is startled at the sudden gasp against his lips and the fingers clawing frantically at his arm.

Erin's choking cough fills the tent as she gulps for a mouthful of fresh air. Rick quickly turns her onto her side, holding back the long tendrils of auburn hair that had escaped the ponytail as her stomach tries to empty itself in a reflux reaction.

A physically exhausted emotional wreck, he doubles over and rests his forehead against her shoulder. "Thank you. Oh, God, thank you." He struggles to catch his own breath while her body continues to spasm with dry heaves. "Oh, baby… please don't ever do that to me again."

When her coughing subsides, he presses a kiss to her nape and collapses onto his back, completely drained inside and out. He closes his eyes and waits for his hammering pulse to settle. When he feels the warmth of Erin's shoulder pressing against his, he turns his head to see her lying on her back next to him.

"Thank you." She gives him a weak, tearful smile. "But what I would give to be back in that tub."

"Next time," he begins and then pauses to swallow and exhale deeply. "Next time we're going back to the lake… you weren't so tempted to stay there."

She gives him an apologetic frown filled with a rueful yearning. "Agreed," she whispers softly.

He watches another tear fall from her eye, carrying with it the hope of ever going back to that candlelit tub and days gone bye. His hand finds hers between them and he gives it a good squeeze, thanking her for choosing to stay with him in the current, dreadful present. The corner of her mouth lifts in response, giving him something more precious than the air filling their lungs.

A noise in the doorway catches his attention and he lifts his head to find Daryl shifting on his feet and looking a bit stricken.

"Uh, everything alright in here?" Daryl asks tremulously around the fingernail between his teeth.

"Oh yeah," Rick answers with a shaky thumbs up as he lets his head fall back to the unforgiving floor. "Never better," he says in a cheerfully dry tone. "No sign of Glenn yet?" He lifts his head again to read Daryl's expression.

"No. But he'll be back." The hunter nods his head once as if that one unwavering statement combined with that singular affirmative motion was powerful enough to triumph over anyone or anything that dared to disagree. "Just hang in there, Erin," he says quickly to the ground before turning and stepping back out.

Twenty minutes later, Rick is lying next to her on the cot once more when Glenn and T-Dog walk in with a plastic bag full of prescription pill bottles. She'd been slipping in and out again between confused semi-wakefulness, alert consciousness with an extremely sore chest, and a very deep sleep - the latter scaring Rick every time and forcing him to watch the rise of her chest very closely.

When he sees Glenn tip the plastic grocery bag and empty its contents onto the middle of his mattress, he has to keep himself from scrambling over Erin and lunging at the pile to grab the much needed medication. "Did you find the right one? The clindamycin?" he asks, shifting to rise slowly from the cot so as not to cause Erin more pain.

"Yeah, it's in here. And we just grabbed everything we saw in case she needed something else too," Glenn says, breathing heavily as he sifts through the bottles to find the right one. "Here!" Glenn turns, handing the bottle to Rick.

Rick twists the blessedly full bottle to read the name of the drug inside that was prescribed to one Sally O'Leary. He turns back to Erin and crouches in front of the cot. "We've got it, sweetheart. You're gonna be fine now. Look at me, honey." He brushes the bangs off of her forehead and holds the bottle up for her to see. "These are one hundred fifty milligrams. How many of these do you need to take?"

Erin meets his eyes for a moment and then glances at the bottle. "Sec hud migs," she slurs before closing her eyes again.

"What? Say that again." With his palm across her forehead, he shakes her head gently. "Talk to me, Erin."

"What if she's too delirious to give you the right amount? What if we give her too much?" Glenn asks.

"She'll come around," Rick replies with a shaky breath. "Come on, Red. Look at me dammit!"

She opens her eyes and peers directly at him, a slightly affronted look on her face. "Rick?"

"There we go." He grins at her and is rewarded with a tired but bright smile and clear eyes gazing back at him. "You're still here, aren't you?" he says softly as his grin widens into a smile that creases the corners of his dancing blue eyes.

"I'm here."

"Tell Glenn how many pills you need to take," he says a bit smugly as he strokes her hair tenderly.

"Four hundred and fifty to six hundred milligrams," she says softly and then pauses to take a breath. "Every six hours. Give me six hundred to start."

"Are you sure, Erin?" Glenn questions in a voice filled with doubt. "That really sounds like a lot."

"It is." She looks straight at the Asian man to dispel any uncertainty. "Considering I was basically dead… a little while ago…," she says weakly but clearly, "I'll take the six."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N Thank God our gang is back together! I don't know about you guys but that wonderful Rickyl moment last night will help get me through my Sundays until February. 'Til then...**

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Chapter fifteen

As May slows to a crawl before surrendering the glorious green freshness of spring to a June that will carry the new world toward a vengeful summer, she takes a hearty breath and holds it deep. Then with a resentful kick at Mother Nature before sulking off to wait through three long seasons until she is invited back to fill winter's barren trees and bring flowers to bloom once more in a profusion of color, she blows a final gust of frosty air over the southeast, sending a chilly current to drift through the camp as the sun shines down over the cliffs surrounding the quarry.

"Damn, it's cold this morning. Are you warm enough?"

"Mmm, yes." Erin nuzzles into Rick's shoulder as he carries her out of the tent to deliver her to the table for breakfast with her friends. The heat from his skin beneath the soft material of his tan button up shirt warms one cheek while the sun seeps into the pale skin of her other. As a cool breeze dances across her exposed legs below the capri jeans, and the new bandage covering her right shin, her thick Emory sweatshirt shields her upper body from the light wind while her feelings for the man carrying her are warming her from within. "Not that I'm complaining - because I really am enjoying this - but I can probably walk you know," she tells him with a clear head and just a slight ache in her lower leg.

"This is the first time you've been wide awake for more than an hour in the last three days," he replies as they pass the fire pit with a nod and a smile from Dale and Jim. "I want you to take it easy still."

"I will, but I feel pretty good today. And I'll have plenty of nursemaids to do the hovering for you, so you don't have to worry about me when you go out with Daryl today."

He stops mid-stride and Erin lifts her head to meet his eyes, and smiles at the surprise on his face that he is unable to mask. "I know you hardly left my side while I slept, Rick." She lays a tender palm against his stubbly jaw. "And I know that you need to go check out that school today with Daryl, so I don't want you to worry about me." When he continues to silently regard her with a curious look, she adds, "Carol mentioned it when she sat with me last night. Glenn found the school and thinks it might be safer since it has fences all around, right?"

"That's right." He takes a hesitant step and then another, slowly continuing their trek across the camp. "It's over by Campbellton but it shouldn't take too long. I'll only be gone a few hours."

Only a few hours, she ponders. But every hour can feel like an entire day in this new fucked up world. She ignores the sinking flutter in her belly as he deposits her gently on the bench at the table, chalking it up to nothing more than the distance that will separate them for the first time in days.

Forty minutes later, Erin slowly stands up from the table, taking care not to put too much weight on her sore right leg. When she reaches back to clear her empty cereal bowl and coffee mug, Kelly and Jacqui wave her off with orders to relax while they clean up. She thanks them both and gradually makes her way toward the warmth of the fire, after assuring them that she can walk over on her own.

She stops halfway, feeling slightly winded, but she plays it off by reaching down to stroke Nikki's head as he follows her from the table. The big dog had done his own share of hovering the last three days as a constant shadow at the foot of her cot. "You're a good boy, aren't you Nikki. But you've got to go with the boys today. Rick and Daryl need you." She looks at his soulful blue eyes and smiles as she imagines him nodding his big head in understanding.

"Aren't you supposed to be resting?" Rick's voice breaks into her thoughts and she looks up to see him walking toward her with a semi-serious scowl on his face and a jacket hanging from his hand.

"I am," she replies as she stands to her full height, challenging him with her chin raised to make up for her slightly bent right leg. "I'm going to sit in a chair by the fire like a good little girl." She gives him a smirk with a sarcastic tilt of her head.

"Good." The corner of his mouth curves upward. "You are feeling better, aren't you? Just couldn't wait to argue with me." He takes a step closer, leaving only a small space between them.

She smiles up at him and this time there is only warm humor brightening her eyes. "Told ya." She shuffles forward to close the distance and rests her hands on his ribs.

In a smooth motion he swings his jacket behind her and fits it over her shoulders, nestling her warmly beneath the two-toned brown denim. "No, Rick. You'll need it more than me." For protection from more than just the chilly air, she thinks as she tries not to picture a swarm of walkers surrounding him on this mission.

He hugs her tightly, squeezing her shoulder blades beneath his jacket. "I'll be fine. Keep it warm for me."

Wincing at the slight soreness still lingering in her breastbone from Rick's lifesaving efforts, she winds her arms around to his lower back and rests her cheek against his chest. "Please be careful out there."

"I will," he says against her hair. "And don't worry, we'll be back in a few hours. In the meantime, you really need to take it easy."

"I can't stay in the tent another day, Rick. It feels too good out here."

"No, I know. You can stay out here, just stay off your leg as much as possible."

"I will. I'll just sit and fold laundry or something." She turns her cheek to breathe him in, inhaling the masculine scent that is all Rick; woods and water and musk and matches all infused with an underlying trace of coffee and courage. A heady combination that fills her senses as she tucks her forehead beneath his chin.

"Don't worry about doing the chores, honey. If you feel tired - sleep. Don't push yourself."

"Yes, doctor," she says, mocking the tone of authority that comes so naturally to him. "I'll take a nap in one of the hammocks," she adds, referring to the pair of hammocks that T-Dog had strung up between a cluster of trees just beyond the tent he shared with Shane.

"Good idea. Just kick Merle out if you have to."

"Yeah, that'll be fun," she says cynically, knowing that Merle won't give up his favorite spot easily.

"Have Glenn help you. And if Merle still gives you a hard time, tell him I'll shoot him in the balls when I get back."

She smiles at his audacious gallantry and believes that he would take great pleasure in fulfilling that promise. But she hopes the widely known fact that Rick has become her personal guardian will be enough to deter Merle from giving her a hard time. Ever since the incident with Ed on the beach, the impossible redneck has been showing a little more respect to the sheriff. Or if not respect so much, at least he's keeping a respectful distance and staying out of Rick's way.

"I've gotta go, honey," he whispers against her crown as he rubs his hands along her shoulders.

Tightening her hold around his waist, she presses her cheek against his chest and closes her eyes to imprint the contour and texture of him on her heart. "Be safe," she breathes as his heart beats soundly beneath her ear.

He squeezes her once, his arms solid against her back as he crushes her to his chest. A moment later, and much too soon, he leans back and presses a kiss to her temple. "I'll see you later," he says in a voice that sounds strangely thick.

Her hands slip from his waist as he pulls away quickly and she fights to swallow the sudden tightness that threatens to choke her.

"Stay out of trouble while I'm gone!" he calls out over his shoulder as she watches him walk away, Nikki trotting happily at his side.

* * *

The bumper of the black Ford Escort aims upward for a moment before pitching down heavily as Rick drives the car over another bulky speed bump in the parking lot of Campbellton High School. He glances at the clock on the dashboard and then leans forward to peer through the windshield at the sky above them. Plenty of sunlight at this three o'clock hour but he had hoped to be back to the quarry by now. That herd blocking the wooded section of Lynhurst Drive had cost them several hours when they were forced to turn west toward Douglasville,where they ran into another handful of traffic snarls that had to be manipulated, including a flatbed tow-truck jammed into the side of a Greyhound bus full of walkers snarling at the windows. They had agreed to keep pushing on, confident that there was plenty of daylight left to get them there and back home safely, even going the long way around again.

For what feels like the hundredth time since he woke from the coma, Rick wishes he had a cell phone. Knowing his family must be worrying about him, impatient frustration darkens the good mood he had pleasantly woken up with after seeing Erin's bright, healthy eyes looking back at him at dawn.

With his mattress pushed flush against hers, after her insistence that Carl take his cot back, he'd watched her welcome the morning with a spark of life in her eyes that he hadn't seen in several days. A band of warmth had filled his gut when a smile spread slowly across her cheeks as he held her gaze. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He was amazed at how quickly she had crawled into his heart and made a place for herself. Like she'd searched the chambers and found a door with her name on it and let herself in with a key that was the exact size and shape of her soul. He couldn't help but feel that she was made specially for him.

The distance between them now seems incredibly vast after spending so much time together the past three days. He is itching to get back to her with a physical ache inside his chest, a tight coil of yearning that expands and contracts with every breath he takes.

He imagines Erin trying to keep herself busy to take her mind off of his delayed return, meaning she is most likely not taking it easy as ordered. _Ordered._ _Who am I kidding?_ She is a woman who can think for herself and never hesitates to prove that to him every chance she gets. He can't _order_ her to do something any more than he can keep the sun from rising in the east. As frustrating as that is, he can't help but love her for it too. He'd rather spend his time arguing with her than being intimate with any other woman on the planet. And that thought humors and terrifies him all at the same time.

If only she would listen to him as easily as she listens to his son. Carl is the only one that she'll bend over backward for to make him happy. Thank God he'd asked the boy to keep an eye on Erin before he and Daryl had left. Rick smiles at the recollection of his son's face when Carl had promised to take care of her; the solemn expression matching what he must have felt was justified for the gravity of the task.

Believing that the two are taking care of each other under the watchful eye of the Almighty - whose existence he's been questioning daily with the fickleness of an atheist on death row – Rick returns his focus to the pavement before him which leads up to a large brick building at the back of the lot. "Let's make this as quick as we can."

Nikki growls softly from the back seat as they drive past a pair of walkers wandering aimlessly among a scattering of vehicles left abandoned in the large lot.

"What about them?" Daryl asks from the passenger seat as Nikki continues to growl.

Rick looks out across the lot at the disheveled duo staggering toward them. "We'll take care of them first and then check out the fences before we go into the school," he replies, pulling up to the curb and shifting the car into park.

The high school sits on the southern edge of Campbellton, a small town southwest of Atlanta. The large main entrance juts out toward the parking lot, welcoming students and faculty into the long figure-eight shaped brick building. Expansive windows sweep across the second floor of this front section, overlooking the wide cement walkway and the low stone wall that funnels everyone into the front doors. The arced curve of the wide entrance softens the top of the boxy structure while the roof stretches higher at its two corners, the tall glass enclosures revealing matching staircases leading up to the second level where a single walker can be seen lumbering about inside.

High chain-linked fences stretch across thirty yards from each side of the building and run back a good distance to create a large expanse of enclosed land behind the school. A paved pathway leads out of the building on both sides to take students back to the fields where carefree teenagers once played soccer, football and baseball. The tennis courts sit to the left of the school inside of its own enclosure within the fences surrounding the property.

On the right fence line, double gates are opened wide where a cluster of walkers are shuffling across the overgrown grass as it blows in the breeze to resemble a wave on a rippling green lake.

After making quick work of dispatching the two walkers in the lot, Rick follows Daryl through the opened gates, drawing the attention of nearly a dozen undead figures. As they all turn in unison in an eerily synchronized ballet of death and disfigurement, Daryl draws back his bow and reduces their numbers as one arrow flies after another until only five walkers are left standing erect. Or somewhat erect anyway.

As Rick embeds the sharp blade of his knife into the forehead of a stocky male with greasy black hair and shredded lips, he has complete confidence that the man behind him will protect his back as they silently work together to clear the field. A fleeting thought ghosts across the sheriff's mind that this kind of trusting partnership is usually born of years on the job. Who'd ever have thought that he would be standing shoulder to shoulder with a backwoods redneck instead of Shane, his best friend and partner of over ten years? But this new world tends to create relationships out of circumstance and necessity, and he is grateful that his family had found this quiet hunter, despite the addition of his troublesome brother.

Pulling his blade from the eye socket of an elderly gentleman that should have had a few more golden years to enjoy, Rick turns to see Daryl putting down the last of the dirty dozen. He inhales deeply to catch his breath and says, "Let's check out the back, make sure there aren't any more lingering around."

After retrieving his arrows, Daryl whistles for Nikki who had been commanded to stay back. The big husky leaps forward, happy to rejoin his pack after being forced to growl quietly from the sideline as Daryl had trained him to do when they were out hunting.

Rounding the corner of the brick building, Rick stops dead in his tracks as Nikki lets out a short huff and a sneeze before baring his sharp teeth with a low rumble emanating from inside of his throat.

"Fuck. That ain't good," Daryl says, standing next to Rick and gazing at the horde of walkers spread across the soccer field on the far side of the school grounds. "Shit, and I thought that herd on Lynhurst was big. We can't take on that many, man."

"No, and it wouldn't be worth it anyway," Rick says quietly, disappointment thick in his voice. "Look at the fence back there." He points his chin toward a huge gap in the fence behind the goalie's net where the diamond-meshed silver lies flat in a bed of grass that stretches eighty feet wide, glimmering where the sun's rays catch it just right.

"Damn. So now what?"

"Now we go home," Rick responds. "Maybe think of other places that might be secure, places that are secluded enough to not be overrun."

"Yeah? And where's that?"

"I don't know. But we'll be okay at the quarry until we can figure it out. Come on." Rick turns back toward the parking lot and Daryl follows his lead, keeping Nikki close to his side.

Walking back through the gate, Rick absently touches its cold metal frame as a loud crack echoes from the lot ahead of them. Thrown backward with the painful momentum of the bullet, he falls to the ground as a blazing fire of molten lava burns a fiery path through his flesh.


	16. Chapter 16

"Fuck!" Anger and adrenaline pulse heavily inside Rick's chest to dull the pain in his left shoulder as he rolls into the long grass at the edge of the paved pathway. Gripping his Colt Python, he keeps his eye on the parking lot in front of them as Daryl drops down to his side with a grasp on Nikki's collar and a stern command to stay. "Did you see anything?" he asks the hunter in an urgent whisper.

"A big white van," Daryl replies, stretching out on his belly and levelling his crossbow to his eye. "Don't know how many guys came out of it though," he adds, waiting for a target to appear around the corner bricks of the school where Rick sees a silver bumper and a block of white metal. "How bad ya hit?" he asks, an edge of concern sharpening his words.

"Would've been nice if it went a couple inches lower… and caught the flashlight in my pocket," Rick says, breathing heavily through the throbbing pain that intensifies with every other beat of his racing pulse. "But I think I'll live." He twists his body until his back is facing Daryl. Wincing tightly he asks, "Any blood back there?"

"Yeah. A little hole in yer shirt, too."

"Good. It went through." Rick turns back onto his belly, keeping his eyes on the corner of the building as he holds the revolver in a firm grip.

"We gotta get outta here, man. Stop that bleedin'."

"We will." Rick nods his head toward the school beyond Daryl's broad body. "See if that door is unlocked."

Crawling like a soldier on a battlefield, Daryl slithers on his elbows about twenty feet back toward the slip of pathway that connects to the side door of the school. Rick hears a soft creak of rusty hinges and turns his head to see a stripe of dark gray spread out to a band of dusky brown as Daryl pulls the door wide, letting the sun erase the shadows on the pale walls of the hallway inside.

Pushing himself up into a low crouch, Rick follows Nikki until the three of them are standing inside the school behind the bright beam of the thin light strapped to the scope of Daryl's bow. "Quiet now. We're probably not alone in here," he whispers as he lets the heavy door close softly behind him.

A responding groan resonates from a distance down the hallway and Rick adjusts the gun in his sweating palm. He stays close to Daryl as they pass a staircase on the right that leads up into a sea of murky darkness. Just beyond the stairs, a door to a classroom stands open in welcome and Rick follows the hunter inside, peering into the shady corners as the flashlight cuts briskly left to right and back again.

The large windows along the far wall are bright with sunshine, streaming down into a small rectangular courtyard set between the classrooms in the top half of the figure-eight structure. Standing at a low bookcase set before the windows, Rick looks through the dusty glass at the empty quad as the sound of gunfire and shattering glass echoes from the across the hall. "They think we're in that front room," he says, forearm locked across his belly as he slowly shrugs his shoulder in a futile effort to ease the excruciating pain. He takes a deep breath to stay focused. "We should go upstairs. It'll give us a vantage point to get a look at these assholes."

"Maybe we'll find the nurses office on the way," Daryl murmurs as he rifles through the top drawer of the teacher's desk.

"Come on, boy." Rick gives a short whistle to get the dog's attention and crosses the room to meet Daryl at the door. The hunter takes a moment to peer around the doorjamb into the quiet hallway and then Rick follows him out with Nikki at his heels. Halfway up the stairs, he swallows the urge to growl along with the husky when another window is shattered in the front of the school.

"Damn, every walker in the building is gonna be heading for that room now," Daryl says, the front stirrup of the crossbow leading the way into a path of golden light that reveals a mercifully empty hall on the second floor.

"Let's get out of the way before they see us. There," Rick says, pointing his gun toward a doorway just ahead of Daryl on the left.

As his partner checks the chosen classroom, he stands at its threshold with an eye on the neighboring doors and a prayer that he need not fire his gun.

Besides the dire need for silence, he doesn't know if he could hit an elephant as the brightly painted mural across the hall swims in and out of focus. Closing his eyes, he rests his spinning forehead against the solid doorframe for a moment before Daryl gives the all clear to enter the room.

"There's the som' bitches right there."

Pushing away from the door and then closing it behind him, Rick follows a slightly staggered trail toward Daryl's voice, passing tall easels among an array of wide tables scattered with art supplies for creative teenagers. He stops next to his friend at the front corner of the art room and looks down through the windows above the parking lot. Six cars become twelve and then shrink down to eight before expanding to an even dozen again. Rick shakes his head to clear the double vision and watches in confusion as the window ledge tilts up at an obscure angle. Something strangely hard with a thick seam of soft leather touches his cheek.

"Woah, Rick! Sit down before you pass out on me."

Realizing that he had nearly, quite literally, done just that, he lets Daryl guide him into a chair at the closest table and doesn't argue when the man carefully loosens the Colt from his grip.

"Jesus, yer losing a lot of blood here. Get yer shirt off so we can patch you up."

Rick fumbles with the buttons of his shirt with unusually thick fingers as he watches Daryl pull a roll of black duct tape from the pocket of his leather vest and set it on the table. He stares at the shiny black ring as if it had been conjured out of thin air by a sly magician. A moment - or possibly an hour later, the sound of running water lures his attention to the back of the room where he sees his partner standing over a large sink. "Where'd you ge' tha'?" he slurs, pointing weakly to the magical tape when Daryl returns with a red Solo cup in his hand.

"It was in the desk downstairs. Here, drink this."

Rick takes the cup and swallows a few mouthfuls of cold water, feeling like a small child as Daryl unsnaps the last three buttons of his shirt and then takes the cup from his hand to pull the garment off of his shoulders. "So how many guys out there?" he asks, the words sounding a little straighter to his ringing ears as he leans back against the chair, giving Daryl access to his chest with a wet soapy paper towel.

"Five scumbags in the front," Daryl replies, cleaning the entrance wound and then moving around to his back. "Only saw the one van parked next to our car," he reports as he wipes more blood, dirt and sweat from Rick's shoulder blade.

"That's good. We can handle them," Rick says, inhaling sharply when Daryl presses a wad of fresh paper towel against the exit wound, grateful that it came from a roll of Bounty and not that stiff brown stuff that he had had in school.

"You mean _I_ can handle them. You can't even stand up, sheriff," Daryl responds wryly. "Can you lift yer arm at all? We gotta tape you up so you don't go and bleed out on me."

Rick answers the question with his left elbow raised to just short of shoulder level. "That's all you're gonna get." He winces tightly and closes his eyes as the pain in his upper chest steals his breath for a moment. When Daryl has the sticky duct tape wrapped securely around his chest and back to cover the makeshift gauze covering both wounds, he drops his arm with a groaning hiss that would rival any walker.

"Sorry I don't have anything stronger for you, but drink some more water," Daryl says as he moves to the window once again. "We can look for some pills if we find the nurse's office once we take care of those dickheads out there."

"Where are they now?" Rick asks, wiping the fine sheen of sweat from his brow with his good right arm. "You still see them?"

"Three of 'em are goin' through the cars, including ours. The other two are headed for the front doors."

"We better get downstairs then," Rick says before draining the cup and reaching for his shirt.

"Maybe we should wait a bit. Let you catch yer breath and let the walkers take care of 'em."

"I don't want to get trapped up here in the meantime." Rick rises slowly, placing a hand on the sturdy table for support as he waits for a queasy wave to settle in his belly. Slipping his arms carefully into his shirt sleeves and leaving it to hang unceremoniously open, he grabs his gun and gives the hunter a look that leaves no room for argument. "I'm good. Let's go."

Letting Daryl take the lead again with the lit up crossbow, Rick descends the stairs behind his friend with slow and fairly sure footing. By the time they reach the ground floor, the pain in his shoulder has lessened to a dull scorch and his head and belly have stopped trying to swim against a whirling current.

Racing toward the front entrance, they hear muted voices down the hall where a greeter's desk sits inside a spacious lobby. The scrape of a chair grating across the linoleum floor is followed by a muffled curse. Daryl slows his steps and lowers his bow to switch off the flashlight, shrouding them in semi-darkness as two men step into view at the back of the lobby, their flashlights glowing about thirty yards away.

Rick aims his gun as they continue to advance, silent and stealthy until an unhealthy moan springs from a hallway that cuts in from their right. He turns in tune with Daryl, both aiming their weapons toward the unmistakable call of the undead. "Shit," he breathes when a handful of walkers come out of the shadows, their spindly arms reaching for a fresh meal.

Daryl puts an arrow in the forehead of the first walker and Rick pulls him into an opened classroom before he can reload. As soon as Nikki clears the threshold, Rick holsters his gun and closes the door with a twist of the lock. Cursing under his breath when the tumbler fails to engage, he calls to Daryl who is sweeping the flashlight beam into the dark corners of what appears to be a chemistry class. "The lock is busted. Get me a desk or something."

With his good shoulder against the door, Rick watches Daryl scan the large black-topped work tables with their dry sinks, empty test tube racks and silent Bunsen burners. Despite the ominous scratching on the other side of the door, he can't help but think of Walter White and automatically looks up at the ceiling where a cell phone may be hidden behind one of the tiles. Shaking off the mental image, he turns his focus back to the present and finds Daryl gripping the edges of what was most likely the teacher's desk, below a huge poster of the periodic table of elements.

Rick moves to the side when Daryl pushes the large desk up against the door as double protection against the intruders, both living and dead.

"That should keep the geeks out and the geeks should keep those assholes from getting' too close to the door," Daryl mutters as Rick begins to search the room for anything that could be useful.

He pulls a fire extinguisher from its glass case on the wall next to the door and almost drops it when a burst of gunfire echoes loudly from the hallway.

The scratching subsides as frantic voices and more shots reverberate inside the building. "God damn those jackasses!" Rick hisses, cursing them for being so careless with all the noise that will only attract more walkers.

When the sound of a man in the throes of an agonizing death rips through the thin walls, Rick shudders involuntarily and moves toward the back wall where a bank of windows looks out into a familiar courtyard.

"Good riddance," Daryl mutters as another voice is heard yelling for his fallen friend before screaming in pain himself.

Through the door, a frantic argument is heard above the snarling walkers that seem to be growing in numbers.

"Let's get out of here, Jimmy!"

"I can't leave my brother!"

"Louie's dead, man! We gotta go!"

"Those two fuckers in there are gonna pay for this!"

As the human voices fade away, Rick reaches over to scratch Nikki's neck as the dog stands with his two front paws on the ledge in front of an opened window. Looking through the screen as a frosty breeze dances across his heated skin, he spots another opened window in the far corner of an adjacent wing on the left side of the enclosure. "Good idea, boy," he says affectionately, rubbing the dog's ears. "Daryl!"

After crossing the garden path, they peer through the window with a flashlight aimed at the far wall to reveal anything that could be lurking in the shadows. Deeming the space clear, they slide the screen across to quietly slip over the wide sill strewn with textbooks about American history.

As he gains his footing with a one-handed grip on the extinguisher, Rick wonders if enough people will survive this outbreak to write about it in future history books. Perhaps in a very distant future when the world sits comfortably on its axis once again.

He follows Daryl as they slip out of the classroom into a quiet hall, turning left toward the main entrance in a cautiously covert manner. Rounding the corner that leads to the lobby, the hunter stops suddenly and Rick nearly plows the fire extinguisher into his back. Looking at his friend's sullen face, he quickly bites back a bitter retort before it leaps from the tip of his tongue.

"Fuckin' hell," Daryl grumbles softly.

The sheriff echoes the sentiment in his head when he looks beyond his partner's broad shoulder to see a sea of walkers shuffling about the parking lot, just outside the large windows of the main entrance.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N In the gift-giving spirit of the season (and because I am desperately missing our friends during this winter break!), I am posting an extra chapter this week. Thank you for sticking with me so far. I hope you have a wonderful holiday weekend! And enjoy…**

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

Rick's heart and his belly crash into each other when he can't see their car beyond the wall of walkers drifting toward the large glass doors of the Campbellton high school. "Shit! The gunfire at the windows must've drawn them around from the back."

A distant drone of buzzing groans floats up the corridor from the chemistry wing as the walkers feed on the two guys that were left for dead. In the opposite direction, to the right of the lobby, a bright light shines hopeful on a large painting of the American flag, hung proudly at the end of the hall next to a set of double doors with a sign that says Gymnasium. A thrum of voices trail behind the glowing beam, their words distorted as the syllables bounce off the linoleum of the hallway running up the north side of the building. Whether words of challenge or mutterings of indifference, their presence alone is bothersome all the same.

"We got more company," Daryl says, swinging his bow to the right as Rick shifts his own position to face the living threat.

The sheriff quickly scans the length of the passage and sees an opened door ahead on the right, tucked into the shadows across from a staircase leading down to a basement level. "In here," he says low, but sharply. "Come on Nik."

Nikki follows close to his knee as Rick hurries toward the room. Moving his left arm just enough, but still painfully high, to grab the thin flashlight from his breast pocket, he breaches the doorway as Daryl guards his back, crossbow poised with deadly aim to protect his leader.

Rick sweeps the light across an expansive room filled with rows of wide tables and large bookcases around a central administrative desk. A scattering of dried up leaves lie in dehydrated curls beneath several stark potted plants that had once thrived to embellish the room. A sizeable stain forebodingly darkens the carpet in front of the desk where students would have stood to check out their library books.

Seeing nothing looming in the shadows beyond the dead plants and one overturned chair, Rick switches off the flashlight and steps further into the room as the voices of the three men get louder. Though they are still talking fairly low, he can make out their words as Daryl crosses the threshold behind him.

"How the hell are we gonna get out of here, Chuck. They've surrounded the fucking place!"

"We wait them out. A noise will lure them in one direction eventually and we'll make a run for it. For now, Eddie, let's just worry about those two assholes with the dog."

"And those deadheads back there. Don't forget about them," the first voice replies.

"This is a fucking nightmare," another voice claims dispiritedly and Rick agrees with this third individual, who he recognizes as the voice of the brother who was killed. From his timbre and tone, a mental image of a young Leonardo DiCaprio pops into his head.

"Take it easy, guys. We'll be fine in here for the night."

As the shaft of light turns the corner and bounces inward toward the lobby, Daryl takes a furtive step into the hall and releases a lethal arrow into the dark figure directly behind the base of the beam.

The flashlight crashes to the floor to spin a chaotic arc against the dark walls, turning the corridor into a grim disco as the man staggers a painful dance. Falling to his knees, he clutches the arrow that steals his breath and relinquishes his life with one long drawn-out wheeze.

Moving quickly, Rick follows Daryl toward the two figures standing behind the fallen man. When the flashlight comes to rest with its face aimed directly at the mirrored wall on the back of the stairwell, the hallway brightens significantly and the sheriff sees the ominous glint of two knife blades swiftly raised in defense.

Clenching his jaw, Rick hooks his finger into the ring on top of the fire extinguisher and pulls the safety pin free. He lifts the canister with his strong right arm and holds the nozzle out as far as he can manage with his left hand, sucking cold air through his teeth as he aims the hose up at the stunned faces gazing back at him. He squeezes the handle and watches a thick stream of misty white flood the face of the taller man on the left.

At the edge of his quickly blurring vision, he faintly registers Daryl lunging forward and burying his knife into the tall man's ribcage, left exposed in the effort to protect his face. Sweeping the extinguisher to the right, Rick sends another burst of chemicals toward the shorter man, catching the side of his youthful, hairless cheek as Nikki races headlong to sink his teeth into a tender calf.

A burning howl escapes the young man's throat and ricochets off the tiled floor as his leg is pulled out from under him. The husky drags his prey across the linoleum until a heavy boot lands hard on his snout, causing Rick to flinch himself. When Nikki opens his jaw with a sharp whine, 'Leonardo' scrambles to his feet, wiping the side of his saturated face with a forearm while his other hand grips a jagged knife. With an angry sneer aimed at the dog, the knife is lifted in retaliation.

"No!" Rick swings the heavy extinguisher back and brings it forward with the force of a clean-up hitter aiming for the fences for a ninth inning grand slam. The bottom of the canister hits its mark with a sickening thud against the guy's ear, hurtling him down the wide staircase in a streak of flailing arms and legs. He hits the landing with a jolt, his stocky form splayed in all directions as his head lies at an unnatural angle against a broad shoulder.

Rick falls to the floor with the momentum of the blow, and the near blinding dizziness in his skull, as Daryl struggles for control of a weapon behind him.

Rolling to his back, he stares at the shadows on the ceiling and watches them swim together and then separate, like amoebas reshaping themselves beneath the lens of a microscope. He closes his eyes to steady his brain and listens abstractedly to the grunts of Daryl's scuffle as a warm wet tongue licks his face.

He opens his eyes after a minute - or an hour - and sees the blurry bulk of Nikki standing protectively at his shoulder with a deep growl aimed toward the lobby. Rick turns his head slowly, ignoring the nausea in his belly and the pain in his shoulder, to see Daryl pull an arrow out of the eye of one walker and quickly shove it into the snarling mouth of another. Lifting his right shoulder off the floor in an effort to raise himself up, he sees Daryl take a knife from his belt as two more walkers shuffle toward him, fresh blood dripping down their ragged chins. _That was Leonardo's brother_ is the last disjointed thought floating buoyantly through Rick's muddled brain as he gives up any hope of helping Daryl. Relaxing his shoulder, he closes his eyes and wades comfortably back into the quiet darkness nestled inside the furthermost corner of his mind, where Erin is waiting to hold him.

* * *

Exhausted, Daryl sets the plastic crate on the floor and collapses into the fairly comfortable chair that he'd taken from behind the teacher's desk in a classroom down the hall. Reaching down to the crate, he rifles through the stash of items he'd gotten out of a vending machine and picks out a bag of potato chips and a bottle of warm blue Gatorade. Opening the bottle, he takes a sip and turns in his seat. He leans to the left and the smooth casters glide the chair a few inches closer to the narrow cot he had brought upstairs from the nurse's office.

Through the large windows of the second story stairwell, the descending sun casts an orange glow on the pale cheeks of the man lying on the cot. Daryl places his palm against Rick's forehead and breathes a sigh of relief at the coolness beneath his fingers. No fever. No infection. Rick had muttered a few incoherent words when Daryl had carried him upstairs and re-bandaged his wounds, but his partner had never really woken up.

He watches the steady rise and fall of his friend's chest and mentally retraces the steps he had taken to secure the inside of the school, hoping that he hasn't missed something.

He recalls finishing off all three men with an arrow to the brain to prevent them from coming back to do more harm, and then taking care of the four walkers that wandered in from the chemistry wing. After carrying Rick into the library and leaving him behind closed doors with Nikki to watch over him, he'd gone out to clear the rest of the school.

Going back to the chemistry wing, he'd found two walkers bent over a grisly pile of blood and gore outside the room he and Rick had escaped from. Feasting with hands and mouths, visceral instinct had brutally washed away any civilized etiquette.

He'd found another pair of wanderers in the cafeteria and a solitary female that was trapped inside the nurse's office. He'd closed the doors of every room that he passed, double checking all the exits leading in and out of the school, and made his way upstairs to find one guy left to haunt the second floor on a solo mission.

With a quick look out over the back fields to see a good sized swarm still drifting about, he returned to the nurse's office to collect the cot for Rick.

Not wanting to use the flashlight and its precious batteries any more than necessary, he decided to take advantage of the large windows that invite the sun to shine upon one of the staircases that overlook the parking lot.

He set up the cot on the second level against the wall directly across from the stairs, hoping that a full moon will keep the deepest shadows at bay when night claims its rightful place.

Now, as the dying sun creates an ocean of long shadows at the throngs of shuffling feet lumbering about the parking lot, Daryl re-checks the assortment of first aid supplies that he had gathered from the nurse's office downstairs, and waits for Rick to wake up.

* * *

 _The elongated leaves of the weeping willow sway gently in the soft breeze just above the bank of the small lake. A fusion of red, purple and orange paint the sky to create a spectacular canvas as the sun dips behind the treetops. The family of ducks floats smoothly across the water, leaving a wake of shimmering rusty gold hues on its surface._

 _Lying with his legs stretched out and his head in her lap as she leans comfortably against the base of the large rock, Rick pulls Erin's hand to his lips, kisses her palm and then returns it to lay warm against his chest. Her other hand threads through his dark wavy hair, grazing his scalp in rotating circles that make him hum softly; completely and utterly content._

 _Wearing black jeans and a white tee shirt, he crosses his bare feet and tilts his head to look up at her. Her eyes gleam brilliantly in the reflection of her dark green sleeveless top and the silky grass beneath the faded blue jeans that brush softly against his neck. She looks down to meet his gaze for just a moment before raising her chin to the sunset again._

" _Isn't that the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" she says softly._

 _Without taking his eyes off of her face he answers, "It's a distant second."_

 _She looks down and smiles at him warmly as he strokes the back of her hand lying against his steadily beating heart. He sees her eyes lose some of their light as her expression turns melancholy. "When are you coming home?"_

" _Soon. I've just got to take care of some things first."_

" _Please hurry, Rick. I miss you."_

" _I miss you too, honey. I'll be back as soon as I can." He sits up and turns to face her, laying his palm on her cheek as he meets her tender gaze. "I love you with all my heart, Erin. You know that, right?"_

 _She nods slowly, a tearful smile burnishing her somber expression._

" _And you love me, right?" he asks, emotion tightening his throat as he swallows._

 _She nods again and a bead of moisture glistens at the corner of her eye. "More than anything," she says softly, tilting her cheek into his palm._

" _And a love like this is stronger than anything. You found me when I was lost in a coma, right?"_

 _She nods brightly, sniffling softly as her green eyes dance. "My hand stung like hell when I smacked your face."_

 _He smiles and turns his lips into the hand that she places on his jaw. "And I found you at the quarry."_

" _Yeah," she replies, her voice barely above a whisper as a cool breeze stirs the long grass at the edge of the lake._

" _We are always going to find each other. This time isn't any different. I'll be back in the morning, please know that."_

" _You promise?"_

" _With all my heart, yes. Nothing is gonna stop me from getting back to you. I will always come back to you, sweetheart. Promise you'll wait for me."_

" _I'll wait for you."_

" _That's my girl." He leans against the solid stone at his back and pulls her into his arms. "Sleep now, honey. You still need to rest."_

" _Stay with me," she says into the white tee shirt covering his chest._

" _I'm right here, baby." Tightening his hold on her, he presses his lips to her hair as the sky bleeds into deeper shades of violet and the tiniest little duckling races to catch up to his family._


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

The nearly full moon shines brightly through the cloudless sky, casting enough light for Rick to see the dark hulking mass of walkers shifting slowly in the parking lot. Through the two-story windows encasing the stairwell, he watches their sluggish campaign and prays for something to attract their attention; anything that will lure them away from the school.

Sitting at the top of the stairs, elbows on knees and boots resting squarely on the third step down, he could literally be the shadow of the man sitting at his shoulder - until Daryl leans back and straightens a long leg out in front of them.

"Maybe we could break more windows in the back to draw them around," the hunter says, cutting into Rick's thoughts. "Then we could make a run for the car."

"It's not loud enough. We'd need gunfire to get their attention and I'd rather not waste the bullets we have," Rick replies, absently lifting his left arm to scratch an itch on the back of his neck. He winces smartly and quickly returns his forearm to his thigh before reaching back with his right hand instead.

"How's it feelin'?" Daryl asks as he strokes the thick fur around Nikki's collar.

"I'll live. Thanks to your medical expertise - or handyman skills, I should say," he responds with a crooked but sincere smile.

"Erin's gonna kick yer ass when we get back ya know," Daryl says, his southern drawl echoing softly in the quiet space.

"Yeah, I know." Rick sighs heavily, looking out at the sea of walkers and wondering just how the hell he is going to get back to her, the current view giving him less than a dim glimmer of hope of escaping any time soon.

"I'll get ya back to her, Rick."

"Yeah?" He tries to put some faith behind the word but it still comes out doubtful.

"Yeah. I promised her. And I owe her."

"For what?"

"She was the first person that ever believed I was more than some dumb redneck. Like I actually mattered."

"That doesn't surprise me," Rick replies, rolling his right shoulder to ease the stiffness in his back. "She's got compassion oozing out of her pores." He smiles at the thought of Erin befriending the reticent hunter like beauty and the beast.

"She's a wily one too. She stopped me from robbing everyone when we first set up our camp," Daryl says quietly with his head turned down, looking shameful. "Well, me and Merle together," he adds with a shrug.

Rick looks at the hunter, not sure if he'd heard the words correctly. "What? Who did you rob and how the hell did she stop you?" he asks, sitting up straighter as the notion that she'd been in some kind of danger with the Dixon brothers has him suddenly, though unreasonably, concerned. Obviously nothing had come of the incident since they all seem to be living peacefully in camp, but he can't help clenching his right fist in a knee-jerk reaction, a by-product of his combative teenage years. Thinking of Merle threatening Erin in any way really makes him want to shoot the man in the balls like he'd offered her earlier.

"In the end, we didn't rob no one," Daryl tells him. "Thank God," he murmurs as an afterthought. "It was our second night in camp. Merle told me to take watch on the midnight shift so he could go through all the cars while everyone was sleepin'. He told me to forget about the walkers – I was supposed to watch the camp, make sure nobody come up while he was doin' his thing. Then we were gonna drive away before anyone woke up."

Rick watches Daryl pick at a stray thread escaping from a small hole in his jeans and waits for him to continue the story.

"Erin… she said she couldn't sleep but I think she was just waitin' up for us. She came out of her tent before Merle had a chance to come out of ours. She sat with me a little while, just keepin' me company she said. She must'a heard me and my brother talkin' that day. She didn't come right out and say she knew what we were plannin', but she skated around it, ya know? Said that I didn't always have to listen to Merle just 'cause he's older than me. Said there's other people I could listen to now."

He pauses again and Rick imagines a quiet conversation between Erin and Daryl as the world slept, the deep silence of the midnight hour shrouding them while the stars watched solemnly from above. Not so different than the scene playing out on the second floor steps of Campbellton high school, he thinks, as Daryl begins to speak again.

"She told me how grateful the whole group was for all the fish I caught that day. Said they were lucky to have me." A self-deprecating chuckle reaches Rick's ears and he looks over at his friend. "Imagine that – someone lucky to have me," Daryl mumbles in the darkness as he pulls harder at the errant thread, widening the hole in the denim. "She said we need to count on each other if we wanna survive. The only way we was gonna survive."

He meets Rick's eyes for a moment and then looks out toward the tiny pinpricks of light floating high in the darkness above the parking lot. "When I looked at her face, I knew that she knew. She knew what we were doin' but she wasn't gonna call out or tell anyone. She was giving me a chance, ya see. To make a choice for myself. Stick with Merle and run off on our own after stealin' all the supplies, or stick with the whole group and survive together."

"I see you made the right choice," Rick says and watches as Daryl nods his head.

"It was actually easier than I would'a thought too. But I guess it's easy enough if you have someone believe in you. The right someone anyway," he says softly, almost shyly as a corner of his mouth lifts into a small, modest smirk.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Rick replies with a smile of his own, thinking of how Erin makes him feel like he's worth so much more than he's ever believed himself. "She's the right someone, that's for sure."

"So why are you wastin' yer time not bein' with her?" Daryl asks somewhat adamantly. "Who knows how much time you have left? Shit, she almost died the other day. Enjoy what you got, man."

"But what happens if it doesn't work? We can't just go our separate ways. Not anymore," he replies, thinking about the divorce proceedings he and Lori had gone through when they had finally decided to call it quits.

"Then you make it work. Isn't she worth fighting for?"

"Yes, and I am fighting for her. Fighting to keep her safe, to keep her alive."

"And you couldn't keep her safe if she was your girlfriend?"

"It's not that simple."

"Sure it is."

"Until I fuck things up and she hates my guts."

"So don't fuck it up," Daryl says matter-of-factly, earning a guarded look from Rick. "All I know is, if I had a woman like her, who looked at me like she looks at you, there's nothin' I wouldn't do to be with her. I mean, what's the point of survivin' if ya ain't really livin'?"

"Well, I won't have a chance to do either if we don't get out of here in the morning. Shit, she's gotta be freaking out by now."

"Yup. Good luck keepin' yer distance when ya do get back to her. She's gonna be all over you – after she tears you a new one for scarin' the shit outta her."

Then maybe we'll be even, Rick thinks, recalling how terrified he'd been three days ago when he almost lost her to that damned snake bite.

* * *

After a restless night on the cot and a long morning deliberating and discarding plan after hopeless plan, Rick's empty stomach rumbles loudly, echoing the hollow promise of escaping the large brick building. Standing next to Daryl in a classroom on the second floor, he slowly shrugs his left shoulder to loosen the muscles of his sore chest and back as they look out over the pathway they had walked along the day before. The midday sun shines down on the side yard where the bodies of the first walkers they had met lie surrounded by a scattering of over two dozen wanderers. He watches their lethargic march, an indecisive stroll that keeps them contained between the paved path, the fence separating the yard from the parking lot and a small copse of trees lined up on top of a slope that blocks the view of a baseball diamond. "Christ, where are they all coming from?" he wonders aloud.

"All the gunfire attracted every walker in the neighborhood like a moth to a flame," Daryl mutters at his side, sounding as frustrated as Rick feels.

"We need another flame," Rick says softly, rolling the thought over in his mind until it takes shape into an idea with a solid foundation and the strength to hold its form.

"Yeah, a flamethrower would be nice but I don't see one layin' around."

Rick scans the yard looking for the perfect torch until his blue eyes rest on the cluster of trees about fifty yards from the window. "Right there," he murmurs, ignoring Daryl's comment. "That's it."

"What's it?"

"Can you hit that big oak tree from here?" Rick points to the sprawling oak at the edge of the copse, its green leaves waving slightly in the afternoon breeze as if challenging the hunter to dare.

"Maybe. Prob'ly."

Rick grins at his partner, feeling a thread of hope weave through the heaviness he's felt in his chest all day. "We're gonna make a flamethrower." He turns from the window to head back to the chemistry wing on the first level, his steps light as he walks between the dusty desks. "Come on."

"Where to?"

"That chemistry lab downstairs. We should be able to find some kind of accelerant in there."

"Like what? Ya ain't gonna find gasoline in there. And ya ain't dowsing my bow in it if ya do."

"No gas, just some potassium or glycerin or something that'll catch quick and burn long. We'll just wet the tip of the arrow with it."

"We don't need no fancy chemicals, man. Purell and some cotton balls will work fine," Daryl says as they reach the top of the staircase. "We can prob'ly find that in the nurse's office."

"Hand sanitizer? Really?" Rick asks as Nikki bounds down the steps ahead of them, tail wagging happily with the freedom of the open space after spending the morning napping at their feet in front of the window.

"Yeah. Me and Merle done it a bunch of times."

"Honing your survival skills?" Rick asks, only half joking.

"Nah, just fuckin' around in the woods. It's a miracle Georgia wasn't burnt to the ground years ago," he drawls and shakes his head with a smirk.

Fifteen minutes later, Rick is holding the shaft of an arrow as Daryl winds another piece of duct tape over the Purell-soaked cotton wrapped tightly just below the point.

"Damn, I hope this ain't gonna be too heavy."

"Aim higher to compensate for the added weight. We've got a few arrows to play with so it's alright if you don't hit the first one. Just get the feel for it at least," Rick tells him as a whisper of warm air stirs a sheet of loose-leaf paper on the shelf in front of the open window.

"Good thing it hasn't rained in a while. The tree should go up pretty quick. If I can reach it, that is."

"You'll reach it." Rick looks at his friend as Daryl takes a lighter from his pocket. The hunter meets his eyes and Rick feels the weight of hopelessness trying to squeeze his chest once again. "You have to."

Daryl dips his chin in a brisk nod, full of confidence laced with a swollen grain of desperation. "Let's get out of here."

When the crossbow is cocked and the arrow loaded, Rick reaches over the windowsill to position the lighter just below the bulb of cotton peeking out of the duct tape on the garnished arrowhead. "Tell me when." He waits as Daryl adjusts his sight on the thick trunk of the oak tree across the yard. He can sense the change in the man's breathing, the stillness that envelopes his entire body as he becomes one with the bow and focuses every cell on his target.

When Daryl gives him the word, Rick ignites the white fiber and watches the hunter pull the trigger as an orange flame engulfs the three inch section of tape and soggy cotton. He releases the anxious breath he'd held when the arrow spears the central bush in a patch of ornamental shrubs about fifteen feet from the oak tree.

"Not bad. Were you aiming for that?"

"Fuck no!"

If not for the severity of the situation, Rick would have laughed at his friend's aggravated tone. "Alright, that was just a practice one," he says soothingly. "Now you know how to adjust it. Let's do it again." He reaches for the jar of cotton balls as Daryl grabs another arrow.

As the second and third arrows burn the grass just in front of the tree and Rick's sweaty shirt clings irritably to the edge of the duct tape stretched across his back, he exhales a deep grateful breath as the fourth arrow lands solidly in the base of the trunk, about two feet above the roots securing the majestic oak to the earth. "Thank you baby Jesus," he sighs, the oath warming his heart as he thinks of Erin and all the times he'd heard her murmur those words over the last few weeks.

He claps Daryl on the back of his broad shoulder and is surprised when the man flinches at the contact. "Nice job," he says softly, suddenly feeling like he's trying to earn the trust of a wounded animal. "I knew you could it, Daryl," he adds, praising his friend in a big-brotherly way that he imagined dickhead Merle had never done. "Come on, let's make some noise now to get their attention from the front."

Rick grabs one of the metal folding chairs they'd taken from the music room and hands it to Daryl, who seems to shake off an unfamiliar emotion and rearrange his thoughts back to a more comfortable place. Stepping to another opened window, Rick lifts an identical chair to the one that Daryl is dangling over the sill. "Alright, on three. Ready…"

On the third count, they simultaneously release their grip to let the chairs fall to the ground below, creating a shriek of screeching metal against the cement walkway. A moment later, a second crash echoes over the school property as two more chairs fall raucously onto the pavement, metal scraping metal against concrete.

By the time ten chairs are lying in a heap on the path, red-orange flames are licking up the thick trunk of the oak tree and devouring the ornamental bushes in a cloud of dark gray smoke. Leaning out of the window, Rick turns to see a steady stream of walkers stepping through the opened gate as many others line up along the fence, unable to navigate their way through it but unwilling to retreat from the sight of the enticing flames on the other side. "It's working. Let's get the hell out of here."

Ten minutes later, when the fire has captured and held the attention of the herd to clear the majority of the parking lot, Rick stands with Nikki at the front doors of Campbellton High as Daryl searches the pockets of the dead men down the hall. Finding the keys to the white Mazda van in the taller man's pocket, they hurry out the doors toward the two vehicles waiting to take them home.

* * *

This afternoon blossoms much warmer than yesterday's chilly start, but a coldness that has nothing to do with the temperature outside has settled into Erin's bones and floats an icy path through her bloodstream. A chorus of frogs drifts over the beach of the quarry as she scrunches her bare toes against the heat of the large rock beneath her.

She hears the hum and rumble of a truck coasting down the hill behind her and wishes Shane would just leave her alone, even though he has been exceptionally kind to her all day. The fact that he is here and Rick is not fills her soul with an unreasonable anger and she can't help but grit her teeth and clench her fists as she buries her face in her knees. She hears the sound of a car door opening and closing. After last night's hopeful dream and then this morning's crushing disappointment when he never returned, the emotional roller coaster running through her veins makes a sharp turn once again. The anger subsides and she is overwhelmed with grief, bringing a fresh wave of tears to her puffy eyes.

With the late afternoon sun shining down to warm the thick Georgia air around her, a salty river spills down her cheeks as the sound of boots crunching across the stony beach gets louder and louder on the narrow stretch of sand at her back.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N Happy New Year! I hope this year brings you a wealth of health and happiness (and many warm Sunday nights with ass-kicking Rick and the gang!). Many thanks to my lovely reviewers (Bluecrush you're the best!).**

 **Now let's start this year off right. Here is the sweet yummy stuff that gives this Echo its mature rating. It's a double feature so I'm posting both chapters now. Enjoy…**

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

When the heavy footfalls stop just a few feet from her rock, Erin senses a shift in the wind that carries a glimmer of hope on its current. She lifts her head but dares not turn around.

"I hope you're not wasting those tears on me."

 _Rick?_ Erin turns at the sound of his voice, the voice she'd thought she would only hear in her dreams now and she wonders if she actually is dreaming. She stares at the vision of him standing only a few feet away, afraid to move for fear of waking up and losing him forever.

He tilts his head, compassion and regret filling his eyes as he gives her a crooked half smile. "It's okay, honey," the vision says softly. "I'm here."

"Rick?" she whispers tremulously. _Can it be?_ Maybe she's getting delirious again for wanting to see him so damn much. Her leg has felt pretty good today and her mind has been clear for days, but maybe she is having some kind of relapse. Could it really be him standing only three feet away from her?

"Come here, sweetheart," he says tenderly, holding his right hand out to her after swatting at a mosquito flitting around his ear.

For some reason, that simple mundane action solidifies him in her reality and she leaps into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist with a fierce grip on his shoulders. "Rick!" She sobs with joyful tears as a tsunami of relief washes over her. "Oh, sweet baby Jesus, thank you." She cries into his neck as she feels his arms tighten around her back, squeezing her even harder than she is clinging to him, which seems impossible given the force with which she is clutching his body from his hips to his neck.

After the bitter cold that had seeped into her bones when she'd believed him to be dead, the warmth of his hands on her body and the solid shoulders beneath her arms quickly melts the icecaps casing her joints and she feels her limbs loosen for the first time since he'd left camp yesterday morning. The heat of his breath against her neck dissolves the crippling ache in her heart as he murmurs her name like an answered prayer. "I thought I lost you," she sobs against his shoulder.

With the breadth of his chest pressed tightly to hers, she can feel his heart beating soundly, directly against her own and bringing new life to her lungs after hours of feeling like she couldn't get enough oxygen to take a sufficient breath. She can feel her heart quicken, racing to catch up to his so they may beat in unison; one strong pulse drumming in a singular tempo for two souls who understand that this is exactly where they are meant to be.

"Didn't you dream of the lake last night?" he asks, pulling back to meet her gaze. "I told you I'd be back, didn't I?"

She sees the moisture in his eyes from unshed tears and knows that he is feeling the same overwhelming emotion at their reunion. She rubs a knuckle across her eye to clear her vision, bringing his beautiful face into focus. "Yes, you said you'd be here in the morning but you weren't. I tried to sleep again so I could find you but every time I closed my eyes I just laid there thinking the worst. I thought I lost you," she says through quivering lips as she skims her thumb across his cheekbone. "I waited and waited and you didn't come back to me." Fresh tears fill her eyes and she leans forward to hug him tighter again, the stubble covering his jaw scratching lightly at the wetness on her cheek.

"Honey, I'm so, so sorry. I got back as soon as I could," he says, rubbing soothing circles over her shuddering back.

"Don't leave me, Rick," she implores, hiccuping through a sniffle as a collection of gray clouds drifts over the quarry from the south. "I couldn't bear it here without you."

"I'm not going anywhere. Not without you," he promises and she believes it, knowing she won't be letting him out of her sight for a good long while.

She leans back to look at his dear face again and sees a painful wince as he drops his left shoulder beneath her smothering arms. "Rick, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" She squirms against him and he sets her gently on her feet, careful with her injured leg.

"It's not too bad, really. How are _you_ feeling?" he asks, looking deeply concerned as he drops his left hand to rest on her hip while his right hand caresses her cheek tenderly.

"I'm fine now that you're here." She tilts her cheek into the warmth of his palm. "But what happened to your shoulder?" Noticing a large, dark stain adorning his grimy shirt, she opens two buttons and pulls the material to the side to inspect his chest beneath the dried blood on his shirt. Finding a strip of duct tape wrapped across his chest and around his back, she gently traces her fingertips across the shiny makeshift bandage.

"Ran into a few un-neighborly fellows. It's really okay, just a little sore now. I'll be doing handstands again in another day or two," he jokes, trying to ease her already distraught mind.

Seeing the reddened, slightly swollen patch of skin at the edge of the tape - and not far from his heart - she realizes again just how close she had come to losing him. New tears sting at the back of her eyes and she buries her face against his chest, clutching his shirt in her trembling fists.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, sweetheart. I'm right here."

She feels the pressure of his lips at the top of her head as his hand caresses the back of her neck. With her body keenly tuned to his, she detects a sudden shift within him, softer than a sigh and lighter than a smile. He probably isn't even aware of it himself yet, but she recognizes the exact moment when he finally surrenders his heart.

Her body is aware of his on a visceral level; the outline of his form, the contour of muscles beneath his tanned skin, the aroma of his musky scent that she can practically taste upon her tongue.

"I'm right here," he repeats, kissing her forehead through her bangs as he rubs reassuring arcs across her back and pulling her body into his. "I'm right here," he says softly, tenderly kissing her cheek as she lifts her head slightly toward the sweet mouth that she knows so well, despite the limited amount of intimacy they'd shared. "I'm right here," he whispers lovingly against the corner of her mouth as she barely registers the cool drizzle beginning to wash over them.

"Rick," she sighs faintly before his lips brush over hers, lightly, delicately, as if she were a rare flower that he had no business touching.

"I'm right here," he repeats softly against her lips, pressing another feather-light kiss to her mouth.

The feel of his lips, so soft and tentative against her mouth turns her insides into a river of lava. Erin leans into his kiss, assuring him that he has every right to touch her and encouraging him to go further. She parts her lips and he swallows once before slanting his mouth over hers, finally admitting what she's known all along; that every decision they'd ever made - good, bad or seemingly inconsequential - has led them to this place, this moment in time where they were meant to discover each other in a way that transcended words, thoughts and efforts.

When his tongue finds hers, a sharp needle of desire pierces low in her belly, causing her little flutter to stand at attention after lying in a puddle of tears all morning. His touch incites an ache in her loins with an intensity she'd never known possible; a physical need that can only be satisfied by the shape of the hands currently caressing the slope of her ass.

She moans into his mouth and he deepens the kiss, stealing her breath as he swallows her ardent desire. He kisses her fervidly, thoroughly, until her entire world consists of nothing beyond the melding of their tongues inside the heat of her mouth.

When he squeezes the flesh of her backside as he presses his arousal against her, she can't help but release a hefty groan that he echoes from the depths of his own chest. She presses even tighter against him, desperately needing him to relieve the luscious ache at the juncture of her thighs.

Their hands explore and caress soft curves and hard planes, filling themselves with the flesh of the other as their hearts beat wildly and their tongues continue to dance around muffled moans.

The light drizzle turns into a soft rain.

"God, I'd give anything to be inside you right now, Erin," he breathes against her mouth as her fingers get tangled in his dampening hair.

"Ever been skinny-dipping, officer?" she asks breathlessly as he nuzzles her neck. She lifts her chin as he kisses up the column of her throat.

"Can't say that I have," he replies, hovering just above her mouth as his palm covers her breast. "Have you?"

"No. But there's a first time for everything, so they say," she responds, kissing him again to hide the hint of nervousness that is trying to surface above the incredible longing she feels for him, especially when his thumb sweeps across her nipple through the thin material of her green tee shirt.

His tongue fills her mouth once more as the sun shower begins to flatten their hair to their scalps. A trickle of rainwater glides down her neck and she breaks the kiss to glance up at the sky.

"What the hell," he says when she meets his eyes again. "We're already getting soaked, might as well go for a swim." He smiles and then leans in to give her a quick kiss.

She watches him look up at the ridge of the quarry where their camp is situated and then glance around at their surroundings. A moment later, he takes her hand and leads her toward the shadow of the granite wall just below their campsite.

Standing next to the wall at the water's edge, Erin looks up to the cliff stretched out over four-hundred feet above them, wondering for a moment what the other survivors are doing, and how well sound will travel up the quarry wall.

"Don't worry," Rick says, noticing her hesitation. "They can't see us down here," he assures her as he removes his shirt and then wipes the rain off of his forehead.

"I know," she says, looking back up to the cliff, still making no move of undressing.

"Are you having second thoughts?"

She looks back at the slightly anxious sound of distress in his voice and sees his hand paused on the buckle of his jeans. "Oh, no. You're not getting away that easily," she tells him, pulling her tee shirt over her head and tossing it into his grinning face. She removes the rest of her clothes with swift, graceful agility and begins wading into the cold water, limping slightly on her right leg.

* * *

Swallowing thickly with her shirt dangling from his fingertips as he stares at Erin's incredibly lovely, exquisitely bare curves, Rick blinks a few times to regain his composure and reaches for his belt buckle. "Wait up, Red!" He undresses quickly as he watches her beautiful body disappear beneath the water line. A few moments later, he hurries into the lake just as her head dips below the surface. She pops up again, her shoulders just above the water and he rushes the last few feet to reach her. Snaking his arms around her middle, he pulls her against him, her smooth back to his hard front. "Promise me, Erin… promise me that you won't let me fuck this up," he says softly yet earnestly against her dripping ear.

"I won't, Rick. I promise." She lays her head back against his shoulder and covers his hands with her own.

He kisses the side of her neck and she tilts her head to meet his mouth. He slips his tongue between her parted lips and slides his hands upward, cupping and kneading the soft tissue of her breasts beneath the water. They fill his palms nicely with enough spilling over to please his fingers. Perfect.

With his eyes closed to everything but the feel of her in his arms, he learns the surface of her body like a blind man finding knowledge in reading braille. Every beauty mark adorning her smooth skin, every crease giving way to a luscious curve and every short curl that covers her mound are like the contours of a wondrous map that leads him home.

He slips a finger into the soft folds between her legs and she moans into his mouth, a sound that makes him incredibly happy and impossibly hard. It's the most wonderful thing he's ever heard and he vows to hear it often.

He kisses her fervidly, letting go of everything that had ever held him back as he inserts another finger into her center. She moans loader as he slowly moves his hand, sleekly in and out.

It's his turn to groan when she curves her spine and presses her ass against his erection. He fills her mouth with all the passion in his soul, finally free to enjoy her glorious body and cherish the beauty of her remarkable spirit.

He takes her hand and guides it behind her to grasp his cock, keeping his hand over hers for a few long strokes. Reaching back around to her front, he fingers the slick bundle of nerves at her clit. She breaks the kiss on an impassioned gasp as they stroke each other, pleasuring each other as the light patter of rain dimples the water around them and trickles down their faces.

"Christ, I'm not gonna last long." He turns her in his arms and lifts her up to straddle his waist. "I love you, Erin." He guides his length into her opening, groaning deeply at the tightness of her body and how her slick walls clench around him. He'd never been a fan of condoms and he is extremely grateful that he doesn't need to rely on one now, knowing that she is unable to have children. The feel of her with nothing between them is wonderfully intoxicating. He gets high just seeing her breath hitch as she acclimates to his size.

"Oh God," she breathes, clutching his shoulders and taking all of him into her depths. Their warm breath mingles in the misty air between them as they hold each other's gaze. "I love you, too."

He pumps his hips and she matches his rhythm as the rain sprinkles over their shoulders. In and out, faster and faster until her eyes flutter and close. The erotic moan that escapes her throat has him capturing her mouth in a searing kiss and squeezing her buttocks roughly as she clamps her thighs against his hips.

"Oh, baby," he groans, completely entranced by her. Smooth steady strokes become hard and fast as his belly tightens and his balls constrict. "Ah, fuck."

It isn't long before he erupts explosively inside her. Squashing her ass in his palms, he grinds himself against her, reaching her farthest depths as he rides out his orgasm with his face buried in the crook of her neck.

Though the list of women he'd ever shared a bed with was a fairly short one, he was far from innocent. But he'd never experienced anything like this before in his life. He'd never connected with a woman so intensely, losing control that quickly and losing himself in her so completely. He trembles in Erin's arms as she cradles his head.

He feels her thighs clench his hips in an effort to draw out their union and knows that her own release is ebbing slowly away like a smooth wave at low tide, drawing just out of reach.

"Fuck," he groans softly as his heart pounds madly inside his chest. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. You feel so fucking good, I couldn't hold back," he apologizes, breathing heavily against her collarbone. "I promise I'll make it up to you later."

"It's okay, honey, it was fine." She kisses his temple and lays her cheek against his shoulder, running her fingers through his wet, curling hair as he begins to soften inside of her.

"Yeah, but you deserve more than _fine_. You deserve an earthquake of ecstasy and… and… a tidal wave of euphoria," he adds as the rain slows to a very light mist.

"Mmm," she chuckles softly. "And you know someone who can give that to me?" she asks, lifting her head and smiling into his eyes.

"Just wait 'til tonight, woman," he says provocatively. "I am gonna rock… your… world," he promises with a dancing gleam in his eye as he leans in to meet her lips.

"Your son's too, most likely if he's sleeping next to us. How's that going to work, sheriff?" she asks between kisses.

"Not a problem. Daryl and I brought a van back with us that has a sleeping area built into the top." He skims his open mouth across her shoulder, licking the raindrops from her smooth skin. "Carl and Kelly can use that while I have my way with you in our tent," he whispers in her ear. "Tonight - you get skyrockets."

"I'm happy with my rainbow." She grins, pointing her chin over his shoulder.

He adjusts his footing in the sand and turns them a few degrees to the left, the water rippling cold but gentle against their shoulders. Looking above the treetops surrounding the quarry, he sees a floating image of a colorful arch stretching across the western sky. Smiling at the sweetness of her spirit that holds his heart and warms his soul, he leans back to meet her eyes. "I love you, Red."

"I love you back. Always."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N And now on to part two.**

 **For those of you who weren't… quite… satisfied… ;)**

* * *

Chapter 20

As the moon shines over the quarry, the crickets chirp to the beat of the frog's night rhythm while a pair of screech owls keeps a moderate tempo from a nearby pine tree. Lying on her stomach upon Rick's mattress, inhaling his scent with her arms tucked under his pillow, Erin listens to the nocturnal sonata as her body recalls what it felt like to have him nestled deeply inside of her. The lightness in her chest and dancing flutter in her belly can only be described as carnal giddiness as she remembers his touch, and his sensuous promise.

After a long lonely night and a desperately heart wrenching day, she takes a rich satisfied breath of blissful content, basking in the knowledge that Rick is alive, and he is hers. The elation she feels is nothing like she'd ever felt before; a natural high that she wants never to come down from. But living in a world where danger is lurking in your shadow every terrifying second of every Godforsaken day, she knows that the perilous reality will hit soon, and hard. For now, though, she is going to trust that Dale and Glenn will keep them safe from their perch atop the camper, keeping watch while she and Rick spend this night wrapped in each other's arms.

She'd helped get Kelly and Carl settled in the new van and left Rick to wish his own goodnight. Now she waits for him to come to her, every nerve ending aware of his close proximity and impatiently awaiting his touch.

When she finally hears the metallic hum of the tent flap being unzipped behind her, her little flutter spreads its wings and beats in double time. She feels the whisper of the cool night air waft against her bare shoulder blades before he zips it closed again.

Hearing him shuffling out of his boots, she shifts slightly and peers over her shoulder to watch him undress in the soft lantern light. "How does Carl like his new bed?"

"Almost as much as I like mine," he answers, grinning down at her. "You look very nice on my pillow."

After watching him toss his socks onto the laundry pile, she admires his lean, masculine physique as his muscles bunch and flex when he pulls the white tee shirt over his head, revealing the clean bandage covering the bullet hole she'd sewn up a few hours before, and leaving a thick tuft of dark hair sticking straight up from his skull. She smiles at the adorable image, her fingers itching to smooth it out just to muss it up again and again as she imagines his body covering hers.

"You're paying me back for the night I watched you get ready for bed," he says with a devilish grin as he narrows his eyes at her.

She meets his gaze and tries to disguise the lust she feels heating her cheeks from her previous thoughts. When he tilts his chin playfully, she knows she isn't hiding anything from him. Again. "How much did you see that night?" She smiles shyly, remembering his first night in camp and the way his mouth had curved into a grin when she'd thought he was sleeping.

"A lot less than you're seeing of me right now," he says, stepping out of his jeans and boxer briefs and lifting the blanket to slip into the bed beside her. "But enough to know that you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen," he adds softly, warming her flutter until it curls in on itself.

"Rick," she breathes his name like an endearment on her tongue as she draws out the single syllable.

"And now you're my beautiful woman," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder blade.

As he rubs a large calloused hand over her lower back, just above the hem of the blanket, she extends her arm and switches off the lantern. Feeling him shift beside her, she hears a small click and then soft light is filling the tent once again.

"Problem?" she asks cheekily, lifting her eyebrows and dropping her chin.

"Yes, I didn't get my fill," he says, holding the blanket up and away from her body.

She smiles when he lets it fall against the backs of her thighs, leaving her bare bottom exposed. He kisses her temple and she feels his hand glide across her back once again. He caresses her smooth skin lovingly and then drifts down over her rear end, gently massaging her curves as warm lips press moist heat against the small of her back.

The trail of his tongue gliding up her spine sends an erotic shiver from her nape to her belly. As his mouth moves upward, his hand moves down, dipping between her spreading thighs to reach her center. One long finger slips inside her folds, caressing her depths as she feels the light flicker of his tongue dance behind her ear.

"Mmmm…"

"You like that?" he asks as she feels a second finger joining the first as he rolls his tongue inside the shell of her ear.

"Mmhmm," she purrs against his pillow and then moans deeply when he teases her clit, the feeling of his wrist against the cleft of her cheeks adding an extra sensation as he fondles her nimbly. "God, I love your hands."

"Just my hands?" he asks as he gently nibbles on her earlobe.

"Mmm, and your mouth." She turns her neck to find said mouth and parts her lips on a heated sigh. He slips his tongue between her teeth, inviting hers to share a brief dance as she feels his arousal doing its own tango against her hip.

"What else, baby?" he asks a bit breathlessly. "What else do you love?"

Oh God, is he really going to make her say it? Deciding that actions speak louder than words, she rolls onto her side and reaches between them to wrap her hand around her favorite body part.

"Oh, yeah," he moans as she moves her fist up and down along his shaft.

He captures her mouth in an earth-shattering kiss as he covers her breast with a large warm palm. He massages the fullness of her flesh, alternating between gentle grazes of his thumb across her nipple and stronger, bolder gropes of her entire bosom that make her little flutter do a world-class handspring low in her belly.

She strokes him faster, lightly squeezing his thickness beneath the satiny skin as he plunges his tongue between her lips. When she reaches lower to cup his scrotum, gently rolling his balls against her fingers, he moans profoundly into her mouth.

Breaking the kiss, he pulls her hips tightly against him, stilling her hand as it gets trapped between them. "Hold on, honey. This one's all about you," he says, breathing heavily against her mouth.

He takes her hand from his cock and guides it to rest on the mattress beside her head, bringing her to lie flat on her back.

"Can I trust you to keep this here?" he asks, entwining their fingers and squeezing her hand affectionately.

She licks the seam of her lips, reveling at the way she feels trapped beneath him.

"Or do I need to get my cuffs?" he asks with a salacious gleam of desire darkening his cerulean irises to a deep ocean blue.

She inhales sharply as her fluttering belly does a triple somersault. When he tilts his head, waiting for an answer, her brain outranks her body and orders her flutter to settle back on the bench. "Not tonight," she replies softly, apologizing inwardly to her little flutter.

Smiling down at her, he lifts her hand to kiss the back of her fist and then returns it to the mattress. With a knee between her thighs, he leans over her, peppering her face with light kisses as his hand finds her breast again, working the hardened bud between his thumb and forefinger. When his teeth gently clamp over her other nipple, she forgets her promise and lowers her hands to cradle his head, threading her fingers through the dark waves of his crown as he fondles and feasts on her chest.

She loves every callous that seasons his capable hand as it skims over her abdomen to her mound, tickling the tight curls in leisurely sweeps before focusing on the tight cluster of nerves just inside her folds. He circles the nub slowly, the pad of a single finger adoring the delicate tissue. When the same finger dips deep into her heated center, she digs her heels into the mattress and arches her back as his mouth continues to worship her breast. "God, that feels good," she murmurs as her belly quivers at his touch, her flutter dancing once again.

When he shifts above her, she raises her arms over her head and grips the pillow beneath her. As she gives him free reign of her body, she hears him murmur a couple of syllables against her navel but her muddled brain can't organize the sounds to form the words. It may have been 'Could curl' or 'Good girl'.

She inhales deeply and holds it inside as he drags his open mouth across her taut stomach. The light touch of his tongue gliding over her hip curls her toes in decadent anticipation. When two strong hands spread her legs wide and she feels the heat from his breath just a whisper against her sensitive folds, she can't contain the soft mewl that sparks from her flutter and builds up to a thick lusty groan that rumbles in her chest.

His lips feel heavenly against her inner thigh as he licks and kisses the soft skin all around her entrance while his thumbs paint wide circles on her pale flesh, forcing every cell at her core to beg for his attention.

When he continues to slowly nibble and stroke her thighs from her inner seam to the curve of her ass, every delicate inch except where she needs him the most, she clenches beneath him and pulls at his hair with two quaking fists. "Please, Rick. You're driving me crazy."

"Good," he murmurs, rubbing his stubbly chin against her smooth skin, sending shivers down her legs.

Another lazy circle is painted at the seam of her thigh before she feels gentle fingers parting her folds. A warm wet tongue swipes the length of her opening and lands on her clit, where it slowly swirls across, around and over the hyper-stimulated nubbin.

 _Sweet baby Jesus!_ She clutches his hair with trembling fingers.

He continues to massage her thighs as he licks along the walls of her opening and then delves inward, working deeper inside her center for several glorious moments before relinquishing her depths to his fingers once again. "Oh, God." She writhes underneath him as he tongues the most sensitive cluster of nerves at her apex while pumping two long fingers fluidly in and out of her body, delightfully fast, then deliciously slow and then faster again.

"Come on, honey. Come for me." He sucks vigorously on her clit as his fingers continue their stimulating assault, bringing her hips off the mattress as she claws at the sheets beneath her. "That's it, sweetheart."

"Oh, Rick!" A blaze of exquisite embers rages through her body from the peaks of her breasts to the tips of curled toes. Clutching the sheets, her body is still quaking with aftershocks when he moves over her, nuzzling her neck and burying his erection deep inside her.

"Oh, fuck. Wait… baby… too much… too soon," she stammers breathlessly, completely overwhelmed with sensation and emotion as she wraps her arms around Rick's shoulders, her dizzy flutter gasping for air.

He begins to move and she hooks her ankles behind his buttocks, holding him tightly against her to prevent him from thrusting. "I can't… sensory overload," she groans into his shoulder, digging her semi-short fingernails into his skin.

Wincing slightly, he chuckles softly. "Just relax. Look at me, sweetheart."

She opens her eyes to see his handsome face just inches from hers.

"God, you're beautiful," he says, holding himself above her. "Slow then?"

She nods, breathing easier yet speechless at the tenderness in his gaze. She relaxes her legs around his waist.

He pulls his hips back and then pumps forward again, slowly, gliding into her as their eyes stay locked on each other's. "Better?"

She tilts her chin, giving him a small nod, though still somewhat hesitant.

"Faster?" he asks.

"Okay," she answers, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

He thrusts again… and again, slowly building to a steady pace until she closes her eyes, getting lost in the rhythmic pleasure and the feeling of being completely surrounded by him.

He kisses her passionately, sweeping her mouth and swallowing her moans as she lifts her hips to meet his thrusts. Bone to bone and heart to heart, they move as one in a sensual trust of give and take.

The flutter in her belly flickers wickedly, spiraling toward another release and she can't keep the throaty moan from escaping. "Oh, yes." She feels him shift above her and then a warm finger rubs across her swollen nub at the junction of their bodies.

"Come on, baby. One more time. Let it go."

She absorbs every heartfelt lunge as the slight pressure on her clit re-ignites the firestorm in her groin, sending her over the edge once again.

With a firm grip on his sweat-slicked triceps, her body quivers beneath him as he thrusts harder and faster until her name drips from his lips with a grunt and a moan and he holds himself deeply inside of her trembling womb.

Pressing her hips up while he presses his in, flesh fuses to flesh in a final frenzy.

Hearts beating wildly, she envelopes him in her arms and carries him into that euphoric place between dreams and reality; where the strongest love is bound by fate and the heat of imaginary skyrockets can be felt dancing against your closed eyelids.

She treasures him dearly as he rocks heavily against her, filling her with his body and anchoring her with his soul. Unshed tears sting the back of her eyes, overcome with emotion at the enormity of what this man means to her. "I love you, Rick."

"I love you back, baby. Always," he says, echoing her earlier words and warming her profoundly.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-one

Soft sunlight filters through the thin walls of the tent, warming the early morning air from the crisp of night's chilly embrace. Erin watches a large spider crawl across the outside of the mesh window as the heat from Rick's body warms the length of her back.

When the sun had barely kissed the horizon and only a handful of birds were singing its praises, she'd floated lightly to the surface and woken up in Rick's arms, feeling perfectly at peace and utterly sated. She'd stirred drowsily when his arm had tightened around her waist, and let him wake her slowly with soft strokes and intimate touches until she was fully alert and completely aroused. They'd taken each other to the stars and back once more by the time the birds were in full chorus, and then drowsed in a tangle of limbs until the sun sat valiantly above the Atlanta city skyline.

Now, with her rump nestled cozily against Rick's groin, she idly caresses the hand covering her breast as the birds continue to chatter from the treetops. Just above her ear, she listens to the sweet sound of his voice as her back tingles with the vibrations from his diaphragm as he tells her about the run-in at the school.

"He was just a kid. Couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty."

The remorse thickening his tone as it weighs on his conscience breaks her heart.

"But it was him or you, right?" Erin asks, bringing his hand up to her mouth to press a soothing kiss to his palm.

"Yes," he answers her firmly, but sounds as if he is trying to convince himself.

"Then it had to be him." She tucks his hand beneath her cheek as he presses his thighs tighter into the backs of hers.

"I know. I just wish he hadn't been so young. It feels like such a waste, you know?"

"Yeah. People are a commodity now with so few of us left in the world. It sucks that self-preservation and misery in desperate times becomes a lousy cocktail that brings out the absolute worst in our human nature. Unfortunately, the walkers aren't the only threat out there now."

"The dead are a lot easier to kill than the living."

"Especially on your conscience, I'm sure."

"Definitely."

"But as a cop, hadn't you ever shot someone?" she asks, turning her head slightly toward his response.

"Once. It was a small town, not a lot of serious troublemakers," he replies, exhaling a deep breath before continuing. "I got him in the leg to bring him down after he stabbed a woman. I never killed anyone until yesterday."

She feels a shudder ripple through his body and rolls beneath his arm to face him.

Laying her hand on his cheek she gazes into his eyes, hating the rueful shadows in their depths. "If you were given the chance to go back to that school and do it differently, would you?"

"No," he replies without hesitation. _Good._

"Then don't waste your time on guilt and regrets that don't deserve an ounce of your energy. They attacked _you_. Gave you no choice but to defend yourselves." She wraps her arm around his back and presses her body into his, feeling the beat of his heart pulsating strongly beneath her ear. "You're a good man, Rick. Don't ever doubt that."

"I worry about Carl growing up in this world. How can he _not_ become cold and heartless like those guys?"

"Because he has you to show him honor and integrity. With a touch of humility," she adds with a smile as she glides her hand across the smooth plane of his back. Leaning back on the pillow to meet his gaze again, she grins brightly. "And he has Daryl to show him how to survive."

She sees the apprehension recede from his beautiful blue eyes as he grins back at her. "And you to show him laughter and love. He'll need that more than anything." He brushes her hair back with a gentle fingertip. "You would've been an amazing mom, Erin."

Her throat tightens and she swallows hard, thinking how much she would have loved to carry Rick's child. "I'm just glad he took it so well when you told him about us. I wasn't sure he would."

"If I was with anybody else, he might not have. But he loves you. Almost as much as I do." He leans forward and she meets his lips for a soft kiss full of tender emotion.

When the sound of Carl's excited voice carries across the camp as he tells Shane of his night in the 'awesome van', Erin giggles with a sigh against Rick's lips. "Speak of the little devil."

"I guess we should probably get up now," Rick says as he rests his forehead against hers, making no effort to rise.

"Yeah," she sighs, drawing out the word in a lazy breath. "As much as I would enjoy snuggling in your bed all day, we've got things to do… people to see… a boy to love." She sits up quickly before giving him a chance to change her mind. "Come on, sheriff. Let's go hear about his adventure in the awesome van."

Crossing the camp ten minutes later, freshly dressed and vastly rejuvenated, Erin feels like a bear coming out of his cave to step into the light after a long sleepy winter. After the most incredible night of her life, the air in her lungs feels crisper, the sun warming her face is the perfect temperature and her footsteps - though still faltering slightly as she favors her right leg - feel light and sure as they walk next to the man responsible for her current state of exhilaration. Walking hand in hand, the strength she gathers from him makes her believe she can take on the whole God-forsaken world. Or at the very least, make it to the breakfast table without getting bitten by a snake.

Approaching the table where most of the group is gathered, she catches Carl's eye as he looks up from his cereal bowl. She gives him a quick smile and watches him twist in his seat and break from the table, rushing over to meet them.

Erin lets go of Rick's hand just in time to catch the hug that Carl hurls against her, nearly knocking her off balance with her sore right leg. She grabs the boy's shoulders for leverage as a large hand presses firmly against her back.

"Easy there, son. She's not a hundred percent back yet."

"Oh, sorry, Erin."

"You're okay, chief." She squeezes him tightly when he starts to pull away at his father's words. "I'll never regret one of your hugs. Not ever." She kisses the top of Carl's head and then releases him to take a careful step backward, aware of Rick's warm hand still resting at the small of her back, protecting, comforting. "So how did you sleep up there last night?"

"It was awesome! Aunt Kelly let me sleep by the window looking out over the camp. I felt like I was on watch just like Dale and Glenn, keeping you guys safe."

Erin smiles at his exuberant pride. "That's great, honey. It's nice to know you were protecting me too."

Carl returns her smile with a serious expression. "It's my job," he states matter-of-factly. "I promised Dad I would protect you."

She grins at him, enjoying the glimpse of the honorable man that he will someday be. "Thank you for that. And you're really okay with me and your dad being together now?"

"Yeah, he needs you to take care of him. And I saw it happen."

With a quick glance at Rick, Erin sees the same shock on his ashen face that mirrors the mortified surprise that tightens her chest. "Uh, Carl…," she begins to explain but finds herself at a loss for words. Searching for a lifeline, she looks back to Rick and watches him put a nervous hand on the boy's thin shoulder.

"What exactly did you see, bud?" Rick asks tremulously.

Erin holds her breath, not sure if she wants to hear the answer.

"In my dream last night. We were at a big farm with a bunch of people and you got married in front of a huge tree with a funny heart in it. There was a windmill and some horses too. It was really cool."

Erin expels a grateful breath and smiles at Rick, who rolls his eyes with a relieved smirk.

"That sounds real nice, son."

"It was so pretty, Erin, you're gonna love it there," Carl tells her before looking at his father with eyes that glimmer with expectation. "When are we going, Dad?"

A shiver ripples up Erin's spine and she sees Rick shrug his shoulders and cock his neck as the sun gleams down from a clear blue sky. _He'd felt it too!_

"Well it was just a dream, Carl. I doubt we'll ever actually see it, so don't get your hopes up," he replies before glancing back at Erin.

She meets Rick's gaze and knows exactly what he is thinking, for she can practically see the thought circling in his mind the same way it is weaving through her own; _Was it really just a dream?_

* * *

Sitting on the ground with his back leaning against the car seat that his son is drowsing on, Rick inhales the flavor of smoke along with the remnants of fish and the berry aroma of Erin's shampoo when she shifts on the blanket in front of him, her hair caressing his cheek with the movement.

"Are you hurting again? Do you want to switch?" she asks, leaning forward after he rolls his shoulder with a soft groan that he thought he'd held in.

"No, come here." He tightens his arms around her shoulders and guides her back to rest against his chest again, encircling her within his arms and spread legs. "It's just sore after fishing with Carl today."

"You should have let me make you a sling."

"Nah, it's not that bad. I just aggravated it today. I'll rest it tomorrow and then it'll be as good as new."

He feels the brush of her lips against his forearm as he turns his focus back to the post-dinner conversation, which has moved from a discussion of the Seven Wonders of the World to local Georgia and their immediate vicinity. He bends his knee to put some distance between the fire and his very warm boot as Dale asks what other nearby places may possibly have fences to keep the walkers out.

"We could look at the other schools around. See if they are fenced in," Glenn replies from his seat across the low flames.

"All the schools will be within city limits or on the very edge of town – too close to the more populated areas to be walker-free," Shane voices from his tree stump on the other side of Carl and Kelly's car seat. "Even if they have fences, they won't stay up too long. Like I said before, we're safer right here, away from everything."

"For how long?" Andrea asks from her spot on Shane's left. "They're going to make their way up here eventually."

"And nylon tents won't protect us," T-Dog adds as he stokes the fire and sends a spray of sparks skyward.

"Then we run to the cars," Shane replies with an exasperated frown. "We all know the drill – as soon as Merle up there or whoever's on watch calls the alarm, we get in the cars and meet down the road."

"What if he doesn't see them in time?" Jim asks quietly from his seat next to Dale.

Rick looks to his right and narrows his eyes at Jim's somber expression. The blood in his veins floats on a chilly current as Jim fixes a dark gaze on Ed, sitting alone at his own fire across the camp.

"What if we can't get to the cars?" Jim continues in a soft monotone without taking his eyes off of Ed.

A quiet man, Rick has thought of Jim as a private person who doesn't waste his breath. He speaks with weighted words; every syllable carrying an oath, an accolade, a warning or a counsel. In the week that he has known him, Rick has come to listen to the man with his gut as much as his ears. Now, ignoring the dull ache in his shoulder as he leans forward slightly to peer around the curve of Erin's forehead, he watches the quiet man and follows the invisible line between Jim and Ed as a knot starts to curl in his gut.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N Here's another bit of sweet sexy Rick to warm your cold winter nights. Reviews are extremely appreciated so please let me know what you think.**

 **Enjoy...**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-two

"Hey Erin, you gonna keep Rick up there all night or are you gonna take that man to bed?"

Erin rolls her eyes at the sound of Shane's voice rising up from the ground beside the RV. Scratching her wrist below the cuff of her long sleeve tee shirt, she squeezes Rick's hand as the moonlight glows softly on the white teeth grinning from the chair next to hers on top of the camper.

"I guess it's midnight already," Rick says, squeezing her hand back. "Take me to bed, woman."

Chuckling at the endearingly hopeful expression on his face, Erin rises from her seat and looks down from the roof to see Shane's dark figure standing in the shadows with Glenn at his side.

For the past two days, her Asian friend has been studying the old phone book and searching for places that may be safer than their vulnerable refugee camp at the quarry. Despite Shane's feelings on the matter, the rest of the group had agreed that it was time to look for a more permanent home.

"Glenn, I thought Daryl was on the late shift since you were running around all day," Erin asks, carefully stepping around the small red cooler and moving to the ladder as a light breeze caresses the still night around them.

"I'm not tired so I said I'd do it since he did a double last night. Besides, it's not like I used a lot of energy just driving around all afternoon," Glenn replies. "I just feel bad that I keep striking out with these schools."

"You're still bringing back supplies so I wouldn't say that's striking out," Erin tells him as she steps down from the ladder and gains her footing in the dirt above the sleeping quarry.

"And we _will_ find someplace safe for us," Rick says when he comes to stand next to her. "It's out there somewhere."

Erin feels the warmth of his palm against her lower back and takes comfort in that as much as she does from his spoken words.

"Tomorrow, you and T-Dog go north, Daryl and I will go east. If we strike out again, we'll just have to explore further out the next day," Rick says and Erin's heart sinks as she thinks of him out on another run with Daryl.

"Still think it's a waste of time and gas," Shane says dryly as he settles into the chair that she had just vacated on the roof.

When Rick turns to face her, Erin quickly averts her eyes, looking down to the darkness at her feet to keep him from seeing the concern etched on her face. She bids Glenn goodnight and follows the fading beam of her flashlight down the slope toward their tent, feeling like the light is slowly seeping out of her in the same way that the batteries are losing their energy to shine. Hearing Rick's heavy footsteps trailing closely behind her, she quickens her pace while desperately trying to rearrange her features. _Please let him think that my swiftness is due to the dying flashlight and not my terrified heart._

Stepping into the tent, she lays the flashlight on a chair in the corner and crouches down to remove her hiking boots as she hears Rick behind her, struggling to get his own boots off with a sore shoulder. She slips off her socks and turns to help him. Kneeling in front of the cot where he is seated and fighting with his left boot, she brushes his hands away to finish the job, still not meeting his eyes.

"Thanks," he says softly in the dim light.

"Mhmm," she murmurs in answer before moving toward her old mattress to retrieve the tee shirt that she sleeps in.

"Hey. Come here, Red," he says directly behind her.

His arms come around her waist, curling across her belly before she can bend down to grab her shirt. Folding her arms over his, she rests her head back against his shoulder, swallowing the misery that is trying to lodge in her throat.

"I know you're worried about tomorrow. Don't be."

"I didn't say anything," she replies, trying to keep her voice light and even.

"You didn't have to. I know you and I know what you're thinking. I'll be fine, honey."

She feels the touch of his lips on the back of her head and blinks hard to clear the emotion from her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she turns in his arms to meet his gaze. She lifts her chin and relaxes her shoulders to pull off what she hopes would be an academy award winning performance. "I know you'll be fine," she says with a smile that falls just short of her eyes as she wraps her arms around his neck.

"Yeah?" he asks sounding highly suspicious of her response.

"Yes," she answers with what she hopes sounds like absolute conviction as she grips the dark hair curling at his nape, desperately trying to believe it herself.

Needing him to concentrate on his job, staying safe and coming home, she refuses to let him walk out of this camp worrying about her and her feelings, no matter how much she really hates the thought of him out there again. And since there isn't a damn thing she can do to keep him glued to her hip twenty-four hours a day, she takes the pragmatic approach and decides not to waste a single precious moment that he is at her side.

"I don't know if you'll find a fence for us tomorrow, but I do know that you will come back to me." She lifts her chin to press a soft kiss to his lips, a benevolent promise that seals the statement. Taking a deep breath with a fierce challenge to defy fate, she feels a calmness spreading warmth throughout her entire body as a reminder of Carl's dream surfaces in her mind. _Oh yeah!_ She pulls back slightly with a mischievous grin that finally reaches her eyes in the pale of the fading flashlight. "You're going to marry me under a big old tree, remember?"

He returns her smile and frames her face with his hands. "Yeah," he says softly. "I remember."

When his lips meet hers, tenderness simmers softly for several heartbeats until passion takes over to burn hot and heavy. When he angles his head, she parts her lips and welcomes him home.

Savoring the taste of his tongue as he probes her mouth, she grips his shoulders as he kisses her breathless, stealing every lingering ounce of concern she may have had with his skillful tongue and beautiful hands that are pulling her hips into an erection that promises to make everything better.

She presses her midsection against him, needing him more than the air in her lungs and the blood in her veins. He alone gives life to her heart and meaning to her very existence.

The pressure of his palm over her breast sends a bolt of desire straight to her core. She moans into his mouth and he breaks the kiss to nibble on her neck as his hands move to her back for the clasp of her bra.

"God, I love you, Erin." The words spoken soft and sweet against her throat caress her skin with a carnal ruggedness from the whiskers shading his jaw, fueling her voracious hunger as he lifts her shirt over her head and slips her bra from her shoulders.

"I love you ba-," her words are absorbed into the texture of his lips and tongue as she kisses him fervently. She lowers her hands to the buttons of his dark plaid shirt. "Let me love you," she murmurs against the cleft denting his stubbled chin before gliding soft kisses down his neck to his collarbone.

His hands glide lovingly along her naked back as she works to free each button down the length of his shirt. Spreading the fabric apart to reveal the hard plane of his chest, her breath catches at the sight of the white bandage that embellishes his skin like a surrendering flag. She swallows hard and focuses on the strong muscles beneath the light dusting of hair lying soft across his chest. She drinks in the sight of him; solid and sound, hale and hardy. She places her hand above his heart, taking strength and comfort from the steady pulse beating sweet against her palm.

She dips her lips to his body, pressing a gentle, reverent, kiss to the bandage as the flashlight finally gives out, leaving them in moonlit shadows.

Lowering her chin, she licks a wet circle around his nipple as he shrugs the garment from his shoulders. Her hands glide down his ribcage and she slips two fingertips inside the waistband of his jeans as her other hand covers his arousal, stroking him through the worn denim. "Tell me what you like," she asks softly, almost shyly, as she continues to work her hand slowly over him.

"You. Right there."

She flicks the tip of her tongue over his nipple until it hardens to a point. "Here?" she asks softly, still caressing him.

"Yeah, that's nice," he whispers in the darkness, his voice warm and thick like honey to her senses.

Sinking to her knees, she places a wet kiss into the shallow indent of his navel.

"Here?" she asks against the salty skin of his belly as she unfastens his belt and lowers his zipper.

"Oh yeah."

She feels gentle fingers at the back of her head as she pushes his jeans down to his thighs. Placing a tender kiss against the soft fabric of his boxer briefs, she asks again, "Here?"

"Oh God, yeah," he breathes, getting even harder inside her palm.

She grips him firmly, breathing in his scent and filling her lungs with all that is him.

Slowing her hand she squeezes him gently, eliciting a loader groan from his chest. Looking up at the beautiful sound, she meets his gaze and smiles at the desire darkening his hooded eyes. Relishing the effect she has on him, she grins sweetly and tilts her head playfully, running her tongue along the edge of her lips that promises all kinds of decadence as she rubs her thumb over the tip of his cock.

"You're killing me here, Red." He pushes his briefs down to his thighs, freeing his straining erection and causing a band of heat to pool in her lower belly.

Wrapping her hand around the base of his cock, she takes him into her mouth. A deep groan escapes his chest as she moves along his shaft, her hand following the path of her lips in steady pursuit.

She feels his hands gently cradling her head as he fills her mouth completely. "Baby, that feels so damn good."

Encouraged with his response she increases her pace, moving faster over his flesh as her free hand reaches under to cup his scrotum. She rolls the sensitive marbles against her fingers as she continues to love him fervently with her mouth.

"Slow down, honey, or this is gonna be over real quick. Too quick," he murmurs, breathing heavily with his fists tangled in her curly hair.

"Mmm…," she moans around his thickness in reply. She slows her rhythm to a sensuous crawl, gliding tightly along his length and giving special attention to the sensitive tip. She swirls her tongue around the ridge and strokes the little hole with love, getting a tiny taste of what he gives her when he loses himself to their passion.

When she takes him inside again, she moves leisurely up and down, savoring the flavor of his skin and the fullness of his desire. She slowly builds her momentum to an eager and ardent pace, until he mutters a curse beneath a ragged breath.

When he pulls away suddenly, she sits back on her heels as he shoves his clothes down his legs, kicking them off of his feet in a frustrated rush. "Get out of those pants, Red, before I rip the damn things off of you."

Enraptured by his words and the fierceness in which he spoke them, she numbly watches him as he lies down on the mattress, gloriously naked and completely hers. She rises to her feet and reaches for the button securing her jeans. After unsnapping it quickly, she notices his gaze leveled at her hands and she stills her fingers. Gripping the small metal tab, she lowers the zipper ever… so… slowly.

"Jesus," he breathes as a warm breeze wafts into the tent through the mesh window.

She shimmies out of her pants and panties in a slow, sultry dance that drops his chin and leaves his mouth slack with lust.

Stepping over to the mattress, she straddles his hips and lowers herself down to his waist, trembling with a need so intense she nearly comes as soon as he touches a thumb to her opening. Closing her eyes, she rolls her head back and gets lost in the fire heating her body as he fits two fingers deep into her center, divinely caressing her slick folds. "Mmmm…"

"You're all ready for me, aren't you, baby?"

"Oh yes."

"Come here, sweetheart." He grips her hips and pulls her forward slightly, lining her up with his erection. "Bring me home, Erin."

Lowering herself onto his length until he is completely sheathed inside of her, she clenches around him and leans forward to find his lips. She gives her mouth to him as she had given her body; willing and eager and ready to be ravished. He captures her mouth as his penis claims her center, thrusting his tongue in rhythm with his cock as he guides her up and down to take him in again and again and again.

She breaks the kiss to catch her breath and straightens her back to sit upright. Leaning her hands against his chest, she rocks back and forth slowly, deliberately, closing her eyes to everything but the exquisite feeling of holding him deep inside of her.

Two large hands cover her breasts, massaging the soft mounds and then honing in on her sensitive nipples. She arches her back and nearly whimpers when his mouth covers one peak, working the bud gently between his teeth.

Held in place by a strong arm wrapped tightly around her waist, she cradles his head as he feasts on her flesh, threading her fingers through his dark wavy hair as he moves from one bosom to the other and back again. When he relaxes his hold on her, she presses her lips to his crown and begins to move her hips again. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, baby." He lies flat and she braces herself against his chest to increase her tempo. "Take me home now." She moves over him, with him, sleek and steady. "Ah, that's it."

When his thumb finds her clit, her world explodes in a fusion of heat and color. She throws her head back with a hearty moan as every nerve ending dances through a rainbow of flames. He continues to thrust up into her for several moments until one powerful lunge has him squeezing her hips painfully hard but wonderfully satisfying as he loses himself inside her. With her nails digging into his forearms and her heart pounding in rhythm with his, she cherishes his love and brings him home.

Collapsing onto his chest in a mass of quivering limbs, she floats down from the heavens leaving a silent prayer that he always find his way home.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-three

The strong smell of gasoline fills his nostrils as Rick fits the nozzle of the red container into the side of Jacqui's white Honda CRV. Looking around at his gloomy surroundings, a bitter seed begins to bloom deep inside his gut. Then again, the bitterness could also stem from the passenger eyeing him through the window from the backseat of the car.

After striking out with Daryl yesterday, Merle is accompanying them today as they head out to Greenville, a good-sized picturesque town about ninety minutes southwest of Atlanta - if taking the highways with normal driving conditions. Traveling on backstreets and maneuvering through roadblocks and traffic snarls, Rick figures it'll take at least double that.

Now, sitting in the middle of a decrepit little town called Haralson, he wishes they had made it a little further along before running out of gas. With the noxious fumes adding to the depressing state of the buildings surrounding him, he just wants to finish the task and get the hell out of there. As the tank continues to fill, he surveys the area and notices a thin metal pole tilting wearily on the street corner holding a sign that says Main Street. Looking around at the ramshackle offices and homes lining the avenue, he can't help but think that 'Maim Street' would be more fitting. This remote hole-in-the-wall probably didn't look much different six weeks ago, before the outbreak.

The trees stand silent, brooding with the absence of birds to create a single song. Even the wind itself seems to be bypassing this seedy little town to save its energy for distant neighborhoods, for the strong breeze blowing through Georgia when they'd left the quarry two hours ago is completely nonexistent on this eerily still patch of earth. It's like this town had died long before the virus had come along to wipe out the rest of the world.

All the broken shingles, peeling paint and rusty tin roofs weigh heavily on the disenchanted buildings. Even the stronger brick structures seem too tired to stand much longer. The scattering of cars left to rest and rust in the overgrown grass of nearby homes would already have been unusable six weeks ago with their dented fenders curved above missing tires.

On the next block up, an old feed mill stands forlorn and forgotten, seven silos waiting to be called into service with the sleepy rectangular brick structure that housed the inner workings of the mill. The weather-worn and battle-weary building displays an array of warped and battered boards that cover a selection of windows, while an intrusive ivy climbs the eastern end of the housing to heavily encase the dingy gray brick with leaves of hunter green tentacles.

A small white church sits atop a lonely hill across from the city hall, overlooking the town with a sadness for all the friends that it had lost. With its pretty stain-glass windows and proud steeple, it looks like it had held out the longest, holding its arms outstretched in a vain attempt to gather His congregation before finally giving in to slip quietly away with the rest of Haralson's denizens.

After placing the container back in the trunk with its mates, Rick slips behind the steering wheel and tries to ignore the almost tangible despair that he feels seeping into his pores.

"What's the matter, sheriff?" Merle drawls as Rick turns the ignition key. "I haven't seen you looking this unhappy since before you started dipping your nightstick into that pretty little nurse."

"Shut up, Merle!" Daryl hisses over his shoulder into the backseat where his brother is lounging with his elbow resting in the frame of the opened window.

"Give me a break, little brother," the elder Dixon replies, "I haven't said a word in over an hour."

"And I suggest you choose your words more carefully next time," Rick says as he presses the switch on his door for the child safety locks and then raises both of the back seat windows.

"What the fuck, man!" Merle shouts as he quickly pulls his arm away from the rising glass. "Leave my damn window alone! I ain't no kid back here!"

Rick feels his seat shake as Merle grips its sides and shoves a knee into the back like a petulant child. "You sure about that?" He can't help the smile as he hears the man tapping futilely on the window switch on the back door.

"Aw c'mon, man. Fine, I'll be good," Merle promises with a whining groan. "Just lower my fuckin' window! I'm like a damn mountain lion – I need my fresh air."

When Rick looks at Daryl, his friend gives him a short nod. Rick tilts his head with a frown as if stubbornly asking, _do I have to?_ "Tell you what, Dixon, I'll open it for the next walker we see."

"Well open it now then, 'cause there's two right over there." Merle stretches an arm between the two front seats with a grimy finger pointing up the road past the feed mill.

Rick shifts the car into drive and lightly presses down on the gas to advance slowly up the desolate street. With his eyes on the walkers about thirty yards ahead, he rolls past the set of large silos on his left and glances at the brick building with the severely faded letters reading Esco Feed Mill. To the right of the mill stands a small shed, ivy snaking up its walls as nearly a dozen walkers scratch at the vines in an effort to reach the woman perched precariously on top of the slightly pitched roof.

Rick steps on the brake pedal abruptly causing Daryl to throw a hand against the dashboard as he is propelled forward. "Shit."

"Well, don't it suck to be her," Merle says sardonically.

"Come on." Rick throws the car into park and exits the vehicle, then turns to open the back door for Merle.

"She don't need our help. Let's just get the fuck outta here," the querulous man says as he relaxes into the cushion of the back seat. "This place gives me the creeps."

"We're here, we're helping her. Let's go." Taking the knife from his belt, Rick follows Daryl's lead with the crossbow as they move toward the shed.

Nearing the swarm, Rick takes in the image of the helpless woman. Wearing a purple tank top beneath a form-fitting brown leather vest, the ebony skin of her well-toned bare arms seems to glisten in the sun as she hugs her knees to her chest. Beneath long thick dreadlocks her dark eyes regard him suspiciously, sizing the three of them up and weighing her chances against them as opposed to her odds with the walkers. Her bottom lip quivers as she turns her head to look behind her, searching for an escape route from all of them, the living as well as the dead.

As Daryl takes out three walkers with his bow, Rick meets the woman's eyes and holds his hands out in a show of reassurance, treating her like a caged animal and trying to put her at ease.

When the walkers take notice of their presence, the two men move quickly. As Rick sinks his knife into the milky cataract of an elderly gentlemen with a soiled tee shirt boasting World's Best Grandpa, Daryl thrusts his blade into what may have been a male teenager or a middle-aged female, the clothes and body so badly ravaged that it was impossible to tell age or gender.

Rick turns to finish off a younger man sporting a tattered fishing vest and sees Daryl retracting his knife from the forehead of a decaying female. As the fisherman falls to the ground, Rick spots a tall, hulking corpse in a ragged football jersey reaching for his partner's shoulder. "Daryl!"

The hunter spins, twisting his body away from the threat as his brother buries a sharp knife into the large walker's ear. It falls at Daryl's feet, dead for the second and final time. "'Bout time ya got here, Merle."

By the time the three men take care of the tenth cadaver, the two original walkers from up the road have joined the party. As the Dixon brothers dispatch these two, Rick watches the woman crabwalk toward the side of the roof where a red tractor - which shows more rust than paint - sits in the grass at the base of the shed. Moving toward the tractor to help her down from the roof, he steps on something hard and looks down at his boot.

Shuffling backward, he sees the hilt of a katana nestled in the long grass, its white rayskin twisting to form a diamond pattern along the grip. The twelve inch handle leads to a sheath of brown leather that stretches out another twenty-seven inches. "What the…"

He bends to pick up the sword and hears a surprisingly deep cough resounding from the slender woman as she steps onto the hood of the tractor. Rising with the weapon in his left hand, he returns his own - now seemingly insignificant - knife to his belt. He raises his free right hand to the woman to assist her descent.

She eyes the katana as he slips the strap over his shoulder, then looks at him warily for a moment before finally taking his hand.

Rick notices the sheen of perspiration coating her dark skin before he feels the heat of her body against his palm, and realizes that she wasn't trembling in fear on the roof - she was shivering with fever. "Were you bit?" he asks gently as he guides her down to sit on the thick tire of the old tractor.

She shakes her head to say no and doubles over with a cough bubbling up from deep in her chest, her breath rattling badly like there is too much fluid where there ought to be air.

"Are you okay?" Rick asks when she finally lifts her head and breathes evenly again. "I mean you're just sick, not hurt, right?"

She clears her throat gently and meets his eyes to convey the truth. "Just sick," she says softly, her voice sounding hoarse from a sore throat and dry from lack of use. "Please," she adds with slightly more power as she holds her palm out and nods to the sword on Rick's back.

"This is yours?" Rick asks, somewhat stunned.

She nods her head with narrow eyes, challenging him to deny her.

With a hand on the long leather case, Rick drops his shoulder then suddenly feels another force pulling against the sword, preventing it from slipping forward as he had intended. He looks to the left to see Merle standing at his side.

"Where were you bit?!" Merle asks brusquely.

The dark woman tilts her head back as if too weak to hold it up any longer.

"She said she wasn't bit," Rick says, stepping squarely between Merle and the woman.

"And you believe her?"

"No reason not to," Rick replies shortly. "It's obviously just a flu."

"Nothin's obvious anymore, sheriff. This damn crazy virus has only been around a month. It's still in its baby stages," Merle argues as Daryl moves next to Rick, ready to jump between the two men if necessary. "Who knows, it could be mutating in this nigger bitch and turnin' into a flu-like thing now."

The woman begins to stand only to slump back to the tire, too weak for her legs to support her.

"She's obviously got a fever!" Merle hollers, thrusting his chin toward the figure just beyond Rick.

She swivels her head no and coughs into her shoulder. "It's just a flu, I swear. Not that crazy virus." She sneezes twice and looks up at Rick with watery eyes.

Rick looks back to Merle and spots a thin male walker coming from around the curve of a silo. "I'll handle _the woman_ ," he says, stressing the last two words in response to the derogatory term the other man had used. "You take care of him," he orders, waving a frustrated hand toward the approaching walker.

As Daryl joins his brother to slaughter three walkers that have shuffled out from between the silos, Rick turns back to the woman and kneels in front of her. "I'm Rick. What's your name?" When she doesn't answer right away, he adds, "We're not going to hurt you." He watches her glance at Merle and then she meets his own eyes again, swimming with skepticism. "He won't hurt you either, I promise."

With her chin raised and shoulders squared for a brief moment in which she musters enough strength to reveal a touch of tenacity, she softly says, "Michonne."

"Alright, Michonne." He gives her a kind smile before continuing. "Now, I do believe you, but we're gonna check you out anyway, okay? Just so we can be sure." Straightening his legs to stand up, he turns to catch Daryl's eye but finds the elder Dixon moving in.

"I'll handle the inspection," Merle says gruffly, leering at the woman as he reaches for her arm.

"Back the fuck off!" Rick roars, shoving his fists into Merle's chest to send the man stumbling backward. "Daryl," he calls in a forceful but calmer tone. "Look her over," he tells the hunter without taking his eyes off of his asshole brother.

"Get in there good, little brother," Merle goads lecherously as Daryl lifts Michonne's wrist to examine her arm.

After finding both arms not necessarily clean but free of walker wounds, Daryl asks the woman to stand up so he can check her back. Rick takes her hand to help her to her feet, then nearly goes down with her when she staggers to the wall of the shed and passes out cold on the cement slab in front of the slightly unhinged door.

"Shit," Rick mutters as he regains his footing in the grass. "Finish looking her over, Daryl, and then we'll carry her to the car."

"The fuck?!" Merle explodes, advancing toward the woman with loathing in his racist sneer.

"You heard me!" Rick counters, blocking the woman as Daryl finishes his inspection. "We're checking her out and then bringing her back with us!"

"The hell we are!" Merle steps towards Rick with fire in his eyes and a knife gripped firmly in his hand. "We already got one black whore at camp, we don't need another one. Or are you lookin' to trade your sexy redhead for those kinky dreadlocks?"

"Enough, Merle!" Daryl yells, stepping between the two men and pushing against his brother's chest.

"Get outta my way, Darlina!" Merle shoves Daryl to the side and raises his knife to the inert form of the dark woman.

As Merle reaches down to the woman, Rick reaches back over his shoulder for her sword. He grasps the handle of the katana and slides it quickly from the case lying solid against his back. Without hesitation, he takes two steps forward and brings the blunt end of the handle down hard against the side of Merle Dixon's thick-headed skull. The redneck lands hard on the ground, the angles of his face softer in his current state of unconsciousness as his left hand rests amiably against the forearm of the woman whose dark skin he is too narrow-minded to see beyond.

Turning to Daryl, Rick lets the point of the sword rest in the dirt. "I'm telling you right now, I don't care how much muscle you think we need out here, I'll bring Sophia before I bring your brother out again."

Looking from Merle's prone body to Rick's frustrated expression, Daryl inhales with an apologetic grimace and nods his head in acceptance. "So yer gonna let him come back with us?" the hunter asks lightly.

"You gonna give me a choice?" The sheriff replies as he steps to the corner of the shed to watch a pair of walkers cross the street toward them.

"No."

"Then I guess he's coming back with us. Come on, let's get these two and then get your brother and Michonne into the car," Rick says, squinting in the sun as he waits for the walkers to get closer. "Won't he just love riding home in the back with a black woman." He grins widely, enjoying the irony.

"Maybe you should sit in the back with her while I drive," Daryl replies as he moves forward to drive his knife into a snarling mouth.

After slicing the katana through the second straggler, Rick turns back toward the shed and his heart plummets.

"Nooo!" Daryl screams, racing past Rick to destroy the walker gnawing on his brother's right hand.

Rick runs to Merle's side as Daryl stabs his knife into the head of the walker again and again and again, fury and heartache fueling his blind rage. "Daryl!" Rick yells, holding the katana like a samurai with knees bent, shoulders squared and both hands gripping the handle while the exceptionally sharp blade rests lightly against the pale skin of Merle's inner wrist. He raises his brows in question when his friend meets his eyes.

"Do it!" Daryl hollers, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Rick raises the sword and brings it down hard, slicing through flesh and muscle and tendon and bone as the sun slips behind a low gray cloud and the caw of a raven echoes off the corroded steel of the Esco Feed Mill.

Ten minutes later, Rick speeds down the unnerving road, a barely conscious woman riding shotgun while a bare-chested hunter sits in back with his unconscious brother, a leather belt secured tightly around his forearm as a dirty tee shirt soaks up the blood flowing from its stump.

In the rearview mirror, Rick sees a single black bird perched on the withering Main Street sign, its beak aimed toward the shed where a severed hand lies in the dirt with its fingers spread open… now as empty and lifeless as the town that had claimed it.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-four

Despite the coolness of the evening air, the camper still holds the heat of the day inside its narrow walls and clustered furniture. The bloodied cloths filling the small sink add a coppery tinge to the humidity, clinging to the curtains hanging above the window where muted voices drift in from the survivors relaxing around the post-dinner campfire.

Dragging a wrist across the sweat dampening her forehead, Erin sits on the edge of one twin bed and looks across the tiny room to her patient tucked into the bed on the opposite wall. Merle lies motionless on Dale's mattress, a solid lump beneath the blanket that peaks higher on its right side where his amputated limb rests upon a small pillow. Keeping it elevated and warm were her biggest concerns after cleaning the wound with antiseptic and applying a more suitable bandage than Daryl's dirty shirt.

"What do you think, Red?" Rick asks from the doorway of the bedroom.

She looks up at him with exhausted, troubled eyes. Switching off the bright lantern she'd set on the nightstand between the beds, she says, "I don't know. The good news is that you cut it straight through. That's what's kept him going so far. If the blade went through at an angle, Merle would have bled out pretty fast," she explains, knowing that with the clean cut, the artery most likely curled in on itself to close off the flow of blood. She just hopes the blood flow was slowed enough before they wrapped Daryl's filthy shirt around the stump. "If it doesn't get infected, he might have a shot. His color is coming back and his blood pressure is stable. For now." And now, only time will tell.

She rises from the bed and notices Daryl standing right behind Rick in the narrow alley in front of the fridge. Her heart constricts when she meets his gaze, blue eyes swimming in sorrow as he searches her face for hope.

"Is he gonna wake up?" Daryl asks above the fingernail that is bitten down to the skin.

Stepping around Rick as he moves into the bedroom, she tries to give Daryl an optimistic smile, but knows it falls short of sparking her eyes. Relying on her experience as a nurse and the compassion that her mom had instilled in her, she summons that age-old harmless adage bent on avoiding the truth, and tenderly says, "We'll see."

At the sound of metal clinking against metal behind her, she turns back toward the bedroom to see Rick fastening Merle's handcuffed left wrist to a dimly lit wall sconce casting shadows in the compact room.

"What the hell, man?" Daryl calls as he steps around Erin, waving an angry hand at Rick. "Now he's completely helpless!"

"Exactly," Rick says as Daryl sits heavily on the free bed, staring heartbroken at his brother's pale face and imprisoned hand. "Listen, Daryl, your brother is going to be extremely pissed when he wakes up without that hand. I don't see us having a calm discussion about it, do you?"

Daryl obviously knows his brother and is smart enough to look somewhat chastened. Though he doesn't admit it aloud, he shakes his head in reluctant agreement.

Erin brushes her hand along Rick's back in support of his decision. "He could also turn, Daryl. We have to be prepared for that too, honey, in case he doesn't wake up," she tells him gently, hating the misery still floating in her friend's eyes.

"He's gonna wake up. He's the toughest som' bitch I know. Losing a hand ain't gonna stop him," Daryl says adamantly and she almost believes him.

She nods her head and lifts one corner of her mouth in a lighthearted smirk. "I think he's gonna wake up just so he can kill Rick for taking his hand."

"Hey." Rick narrows his eyes at her with a look that says, _thanks a lot_.

"Sorry, babe. You know I'm kidding." She takes Rick's hand and then looks at Daryl with wide eyes, shaking her head slightly and subtly mouthing, _No I'm not_.

Daryl gives her a small grin and she's happy to see his face brighten up a bit. The brief flash of light in his eyes was worth the clearly annoyed look she earned from her lover.

* * *

With Dale and Glenn on watch just a few feet above her head, Erin squeezes Rick's arm against her middle as his warm body curls solidly against her back. Lying in the small dark bunk above the driver's seat, she is thankful that she isn't claustrophobic. She assumes Jim isn't either since this has become his bed since joining their camp. She thinks of him stretched out comfortably on Daryl's mattress for the night while the hunter takes up residence at the other end of the RV with his yet-to-awaken brother.

Though Jim may enjoy the openness of the large tent, she knows he'll be just as happy to return to the camper with Dale and Glenn come tomorrow, assuming Merle wakes up by then… or doesn't. She just hopes Jim sleeps well enough tonight on his own, knowing that Glenn has had to soothe him through several nightmares over the last two weeks.

Her thoughts drift from Jim to Michonne, the latest addition to their refugee camp, and Erin wonders if she is sleeping peacefully herself in the small two-man tent that T-Dog had pulled out of their supply pantry. Loaded up on Nyquil flu medicine from the growing first aid kit, the woman ought to be out cold, but who knows what living nightmares she has endured that will find their way into her dreams at night.

Incredibly grateful for the strong body at her back, Erin presses Rick's arm even tighter into her midsection and dips her chin to rest her jaw against his hand.

He must sense her anxiety, as he knows her so well, because she feels the brush of his lips against the back of her head.

"I've got you," he murmurs sleepily into her hair. "Go to sleep, baby."

"Promise me something first."

"Anything."

In the darkness of the extremely cramped space, the softly spoken word carries an enormous amount of weight. _If only…_ "Promise me you'll be careful around Merle. He's going to be royally pissed when he wakes up."

"If he wakes up," Rick replies.

"Oh, he's going to wake up, honey." _Just so he can kill you_. She doesn't say the words aloud but she knows he hears them just the same.

"It was Daryl's call. He's just as much to blame here," Rick says defensively, sounding a little more alert than he was a moment ago.

"But Merle won't see it that way. It was your hands that held the sword and he is not going to want to blame his brother. He already disliked you, this just gives him a reason to _really_ despise you."

"He never needed a reason. Now can you please stop worrying about him?"

"He's not the one I'm worried about." She brings his hand up to her mouth and presses her lips to his knuckles. A few minutes later, she feels the even rhythm of his breathing and listens to the quiet, comforting sound for quite a while before she finally drifts off to join him.

* * *

 _Standing on the large balcony overlooking the white sandy beach of Tybee Island, Erin holds her long hair back against the strong breeze blowing across the Georgia seashore. Closing her eyes and soaking up the warm sunshine heating her upturned cheeks, she breathes in the cool Atlantic air as seagulls call out, sweeping along the current._

 _Hearing a muffled noise behind her, she glances over her shoulder to see Rick coming out of the bedroom, the sunlight stroking his bare chest and highlighting his happy trail; the narrow strand of short curly hairs that lead down into the opened button of his half-zipped faded blue jeans. Barefoot, he walks silently across the spacious balcony while the ocean caresses the beach, its gentle waves creating a soothing soundtrack as they break against the shoreline._

 _Four stories above the wide stretch of sand, Erin turns back to the ocean as Rick's strong arms slink around her midsection. He pulls her back against the treasure at the end of his happy trail and she raises her hands to slip behind his neck, leaving her hair to blow gently in a puff of salty wind._

 _Wearing nothing but his white tee shirt that still reaches her thighs despite the full stretch of her arms, she feels the denim of his fly pressing roughly against the thin cotton material covering the cleft of her bare cheeks. Dropping her hands to close them over his, she leans back into his solid strength._

" _Mmm, I like this dream," he says into the crook of her neck. "Are we still in Georgia?"_

" _UmHmm…, just outside Savannah," she replies with a soft groan as she tilts her head, giving him more neck to graze. "I came here a few times with my cousins. My uncle's boss owns this condo."_

" _Nice place to relax, huh?"_

" _Oh yeah." She rests her temple against his whisker roughened jaw._

" _Then why are you so tense?" His hands slip out from beneath hers and then she feels their warmth against her shoulders. "What are you worrying about, honey?" he asks, digging exquisite circles into the base of her neck with his thumbs._

" _Seriously?" she replies with a sarcastic, slightly nervous laugh._

" _Okay, dumb question. What are you_ most _worried about at the moment?"_

 _She sighs deeply. "Merle not waking up. Merle waking up. Merle killing you. Mad Walker-Merle eating you."_

" _Aw, sweetheart." His chuckling lips press comfortingly against the back of her head. "I promise I won't let him eat me."_

" _But you can't swear that he won't try to kill you."_

" _We don't even know that he's gonna wake up." At the look she throws at him over her shoulder, he quickly adds, "I'll watch my back around him, okay?"_

" _Oh, he's waking up alright," she says softly, rhetorically. "Vengeance is a strong motivator to survive. People have come back from far worse with a lot less to live for."_

" _I had a pretty good reason to come back myself."_

" _Carl is a very good reason."_

" _He is. But my son is not the only reason I came back. I know that now." His arms wrap securely around her upper chest and she sinks back against him. "You're a damn good reason for living yourself, Red. You were made for me, weren't you. I mean, I can't help thinking that you were put on this earth just for me," he whispers solemnly into the soft hollow behind her ear._

 _If she knows one thing with absolute certainty, it is that; that she was made for him and he was created especially for her. "Yes," she breathes, her hands riding his wrists as his palms glide down over her breasts, massaging their fullness._

 _Nuzzling her neck he brings her hands to the railing and folds his fingers over hers until she is grasping the cool metal. "Hold on, baby." The heat of his body leaves her back and two powerful hands gently tug on her hips, forcing her to shuffle a few steps backward._

 _With her spine lying flat, she feels the silky caress of his white tee shirt rising slowly up over her hips. "I know this ass was made for me," he murmurs as she feels a large calloused hand coasting over her rear end._

 _Her body responds to him immediately, instinctively. She pushes back until she feels his growing erection beneath the hard ridge of his fly pressing against her bare skin. He leans in harder, pulling her hips back as he grinds against her, the feeling incredibly arousing. "Yeah, and this was definitely made for you, wasn't it, honey."_

" _God, yes." She misses it the instant he steps back and the cool ocean breeze floats over her heated flesh. At the sound of his zipper being opened and his jeans being lowered behind her, she spreads her legs further apart, barely aware of the majestic ocean and its beautiful song before her. Her shirt glides farther up her back and she moans in anticipation._

" _Yeah, this body was definitely made for me," he murmurs as she feels one strong hand caressing the plane of her back while another glides over the curved flesh of one smooth posterior cheek. "Mine," he breathes, slipping a finger sinuously inside of her._

" _Mmm…," she groans as he digs deeper, slowly circling the edge of her walls, leisurely, thoroughly. The more lethargic his pace the quicker her pulse and her flutter liquefies as her belly tightens. His hand recedes and then she feels the smooth head of his cock stroking the threshold of her folds, slowly, eloquently, deliberate. "Mine," she echoes as her body aches to be fulfilled, desperate to bond her female to his male; two souls genuinely united and intrinsically mated._

 _A moment before he drives deeply inside of her, she gasps a quick salty breath as a sharp sting suddenly graces her rump, burning deliciously in the shape of his palm as she grips the railing to receive his ardent thrust._

* * *

Rick wakes in the stuffy trailer with an erection worthy of a stallion prancing through a field of fillies in heat. Erin stirs in front of him, pressing her ass into his raging groin. He is surprised to look beyond her shoulder and see the narrow wall of the Winnebago instead of an endless ocean. A strange - but not unpleasant - burning sensation on his right palm fades as a distant voice infiltrates the haze of his dream, their dream… their incredibly erotic dream. _Jesus._

When the voice crystallizes and then breaks apart, dividing into two entities – one loud, angry and pained, and the other soft, soothing and edgy - Rick quickly rolls from the bunk and jumps to his feet. When Erin wakes and turns over to follow him, he tells her to stay put, his fevered voice frustrated and unintentionally short. She looks at him from the edge of the mattress, her green eyes lazy with sleep but lustrous with something gleaming in their depths; a heady blend of wanton desire and playful humor. She takes his breath away as his balls get even bluer inside of his impossibly tight jeans. _Christ_. Leaning in, he presses his lips hard against hers. "Love you," he says quickly against her mouth before rushing clumsily toward the back of the RV.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N I am incredibly thrilled to have so many people following this story. Thank you for that! But please don't be shy - I would love to hear what you think so please leave a review, even if it is just a couple of words. Thanks :)  
**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-five

"Get this fuckin' think off'a me! Who the fuck gave you the right to do this to me?" Merle's screams bounce harshly off of the camper's walls and Rick's gut tightens nearly as hard as his fists as his body instinctively goes into battle mode. " _My fuckin' hands!"_

Reaching the bedroom, Rick sees Merle thrashing wildly on the bed, the blanket askew to reveal his bandaged arm as he rattles the cuffs against the gold curve of the wall sconce. He stops in the doorway as Daryl rises from his perch on the opposite twin bed, a hand stretched out toward his brother and speaking in a voice usually reserved for untamed animals - which in this case, actually fits. For the wild look in Merle Dixon's eyes is more dangerous than any animal that Rick had ever encountered.

"We had to do it, man," Daryl says adamantly, standing between the sheriff and his brother. Detecting a trace of fear in his friend's voice, Rick wonders if Daryl positioned himself intentionally to protect him from Merle, or was it a subconscious decision that separated the two adversaries.

"You had no right!" Merle screams again, his voice wavering slightly as if on the verge of tears. Almost, but not quite there yet as anger still outshines despair.

"He saved your life, ya dumb shit! Ya got bit so we had to take it off fast. Rick had the katana and -,"

"God damned cocksucker! I'm gonna kill you, ya motherfuckin' cop!" he yells furiously at the ceiling as he reaches out blindly with his stump. He falls back to the bed in pain and misery, thrashing violently and cursing Rick to the heavens.

With a hand on Daryl's shoulder, Rick nudges the man to the side to face Merle himself. "Listen, I know you're in a lot of pain and maybe rightfully pissed, but if you want me to unlock that cuff, you're gonna have to calm the fuck down."

"You." The single syllable carries more venom than all the rattlesnakes in Georgia combined as Merle slowly lifts his head and shoulders from the bed.

Rick meets his deadly glare. "Yeah, Dixon. It was me. For some stupid reason your brother didn't want you to die, and I was the one holding the sword. But let's be clear about one thing," Rick says hotly, throwing compassion out the window. "I didn't do it for you, I did it for your brother."

"We had to, Merle," Daryl says miserably. "We had to."

"No one asked ya to!" Merle hollers, still mad and breathing heavily, but a little less agitated.

"It was yer only chance, Merle." Daryl leans toward his brother again. "We had no choice."

"Then ya should'a let me die," Merle says softly, surrendering the battle with a long deflated sigh. A touch of pity lightens the tension inside the camper as Merle slumps back to the pillow once again, his body melting into the bed as his anger turns to exhaustion and frustration. "Just get this fuckin' cuff off'a me."

"Can I trust you?" Rick asks, trying to gauge Merle's expression to see whether murderous rage is still fighting for first place.

"I ain't gonna kill ya. Just cut me loose," he replies evenly, sounding completely defeated. "My wrist hurts almost as much as the one ya took. Ya got any painkillers in that magic bag of yours, Irish?"

Rick turns to follow Merle's gaze and finds Erin standing right behind him. He tilts his chin with a look that says, _Do you ever listen to me?_ She ignores his smirk and lifts his hand to place four rust colored tablets into his palm. Of course she'd be prepared to treat her patient. Rick gives her a small apologetic smile. "Thanks, honey."

"It's only Motrin but it might help take the edge off," she says as she hands him a bottle of water.

Rick turns back to the bed and hands the water to Daryl, and then reaches into his pocket for the key.

* * *

After checking Merle's stump and fashioning a sling out of a threadbare beach towel, and insisting that she didn't have anything stronger than over-the-counter analgesics, Erin follows Rick back to their tent as the sun sits just below the horizon.

The camp is quiet, their friends still sleeping before the birds and chores rouse them from their beds to face another day in far-from-paradise. He takes her hand and leads her around the fire pit, his palm warm and cozy against the chill of the early morning hour.

"So, that was some dream last night, huh?" he asks nonchalantly, but the glance he aims at her invites all kinds of sinful speculation.

The flutter in her belly awakens with a jolt as she remembers their dream on the Savannah balcony. She can't help the grin that immediately splits her face. When he slows their pace and his eyes darken with desire, she knows he is thinking of the slap that had still stung her ass upon waking in the camper. Her flutter blushes demurely and her grin softens into a shy smile. "Yes, it certainly was something."

"I'm not sure that my hand was working entirely on its own though, was it?" he asks, his tone saying he already knows the answer. Which of course he does because he knows her so well, and their dreams – though otherworldly and fantastical, are always very insightful.

She feels her cheeks heat and a part of her wants to run and hide, but then her flutter stands proud. With her chin down but angled toward him, she looks up from beneath her long lashes and gives him a coyly seductive little smile as they near the patch of dirt that holds their tent. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says sweetly, virgin innocence dripping slyly from her tongue.

"Is that right?" He stops, swings her around to face him and pulls her into his arms. "That thought never crossed your mind, huh?" he asks, squeezing a handful of soft buttocks.

His hand feels wonderful as it massages her rear after groping it roughly. She can almost feel the sting of his palm now as it had connected with her flesh on that ethereal balcony. "Well," she says slowly, "it may have… seemed like a good idea… at the time."

"Yeah," he says softly, "we're gonna have to finish that dream someday." He lowers his head and swallows her reply with warm lips and a hot hungry tongue.

 _God, this man can kiss_. With her hands in his hair as her knees grow weak, she angles her head to invite him deeper, and loses herself. His mouth molds to hers, tongues swaying in a sweet and savory dance and in an instant - two plain puzzle pieces are gloriously interlocked to create an extraordinary picture. _Yes_ , she thinks in the tiny corner of her mind where lust and emotion fuses with love and devotion… _we were most definitely designed for each other_.

* * *

Dark gray clouds move swiftly across the late day sky, swallowing the sunset as a strong wind ruffles the tree tops and lifts the bottom corner of the thin paper below Rick's hand. The well-worn map of central Georgia stirs its edges but remains flattened beneath the many capable hands that are pressing it into the hood of Daryl's truck.

Standing at the front bumper with Shane at his side, he has Dale and T-Dog flanking the fender to his left while Daryl and Glenn lean over the map on his right. For over an hour now the small group of men have been deliberating their next move; discussing, discounting and revisiting idea after idea of exactly where to search next. Rick knows they are on borrowed time at the quarry and hopes to be moving on by the end of the week, before their luck runs out. But after analyzing every highway, backroad, side street and dirt path between Atlanta and its surrounding townships, they can't find one place that they are certain would be safer than the small clearing at the top of the quarry.

He looks over his shoulder toward the small tent pitched next to the Pelletier's dwelling and wonders when Michonne will be feeling well enough to talk. He'd tried speaking to the dark woman earlier about the places she had been through, hoping to use her experiences to help with their planning strategies. But she was still too sick - and much too wary of the group that had taken her - for him to push the subject. For the few minutes that she'd emerged from the tent this afternoon, her fevered eyes had been just as haunted as Jim's and as feral as Daryl's. So he would give her one day to sleep, and heal. But tomorrow he was going to have a long talk with her - whether she liked it or not.

Swinging his eyes back to the Dixon's tent on the other side of the camp, he wonders if Merle will sleep through another day. With a good amount of Motrin and a sleeping pill drifting along his bloodstream, he has been passed out for most of today. Hopefully Erin has enough pills in stock to keep the redneck sedated and docile until he can get some much-needed information from Michonne.

He glances to his right as a splash of white catches his eye. He smiles at Erin as she steps into the gap between Daryl and Glenn, her rusty hair falling long and loose over his white tee shirt. She gives him a knowing smile as she lifts a shoulder and rubs her chin against the cotton.

She'd surprised him that morning when he was pulling a gray tee shirt over his shoulders to hang loose over his black jeans. She had nonchalantly reached into his duffel bag, rooted around for a few seconds and pulled out one of his white tees. She'd given him a flirty, yet challenging look, daring him to try and stop her from slipping it over her head. _Not in a million years._

She'd walked out of the tent to join the rest of the group for breakfast, leaving him with a stirring in his crotch as if they hadn't just finished what they'd started in the dream last night – slightly stinging palm and all. It was incredible. She was incredible.

Now, as they stand among their friends, he blocks out the image of her panting beneath him to focus on the discussion of where they would be safe. Something tells him that it just doesn't exist in this world anymore.

"What about Fort Benning?" Andrea asks after squeezing between Rick and Shane at the front bumper. "Isn't that what you had mentioned the other day, Shane?"

"It's an option," Rick replies, inching to his right to make room for the blonde woman. "But it's a long way to go for protection that may not exist anymore."

"It'll be there," Shane says, meeting Rick's eyes over Andrea's head. "The military will protect their base at all costs."

"Exactly. And that's what I'm afraid of," Rick says, pushing the brim of his hat up into his hairline with more than an ounce of frustration. "You said yourself that they were shooting everyone at the hospital when you came to get me. How do we know they'll welcome us with open arms if we knock on their front door now?"

"They wouldn't do that," Andrea responds. "We're not sick and we're certainly not the enemy."

"I hate to say it, but I think Rick's right," Dale says, giving the sheriff a supportive nod. "The government doesn't exist anymore. Who's to say that there isn't a group of trained soldiers behind the walls of Fort Benning that are only concerned with keeping themselves alive? Survival of the fittest. They've got nothing to gain by taking us in and everything to lose."

"They aren't going to let the weak inherit the earth without a fight," Erin adds, giving Rick her own supporting nod. He's never loved her more.

"Okay, so Fort Benning is out," Glenn says, leaning down toward the map once again. "What other options do we have?"

"I still think- " Andrea begins but a short bark and a low growl from Nikki cuts her off.

Rick follows the husky's snarling stance toward the mouth of the gravel path that spills out of the forest into their clearing. A moment later a slight tinkling of a can reaches his ears and he drops his hand to the Colt Python at his belt.

"Somethin's comin'," Daryl says, pulling his crossbow from his shoulder.

"Or someone," Rick says, moving around the truck to stand in front of Erin, protecting her from whoever is coming up the path. "A walker would've made more noise going through those cans."

The soft sound of gravel crunching beneath distant boots gets louder as Nikki's growl grows deeper, his hackles spiking high and intimidating between his shoulder blades as he stands in front of Rick and Daryl. Protecting his pack.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N So glad the wait is over and our friends are back swinging! Now here's another little taste of Rick to get us through til next Sunday. Please let me know what you think!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-six

The soft scurrying sound of a small animal sprouts up from the bushes to their left but the dog and the man ignore it, keeping their attention focused on the footsteps crunching up the gravel drive.

Rick detects at least two sets of boots walking at a good pace as the footfalls get louder and louder. When he feels Erin's fingertips against his lower back, he tightens his grip on the Python and dips his chin slightly to the side without taking his eyes off of the narrow roadway. "Just stay behind me, Red. If bullets start flying, you drop down and crawl under the truck."

"Okay. Who do you think it is?" she whispers at his back.

"No idea, but I do know that it isn't anyone we invited."

"What about your friend Morgan?" she asks.

"He'll be coming with a car, not walking into camp making all kinds of noise," Rick answers quietly. "He's smarter than that."

With Daryl on his right and Shane on his left, both locked and loaded to face whoever steps into their clearing, Rick knows that the three of them make a formidable defense. Especially if it is only two people advancing on them as he believes by the sound of the approaching boots. He tells Glenn to keep the others behind the truck as Nikki's growl gets deeper.

Tension drifts on a strong breeze as the echo of murmured voices floats up to the clearing. Rick's heart picks up but his hand stays steady. The voices gain volume but he still can't see the visitors for the curve of the path. "Get ready now."

The disembodied words begin to take form and Rick lifts his chin a fraction at the distinctive sound of a black man saying the word "Duane." A heartbeat later, he braces his stance for battle as two figures step into view.

"We come in peace," the taller figure says lightly with his arms held up in surrender, the sun gleaming off the walkie talkie in his outstretched hand.

"Jesus," Rick breathes, lowering his gun. He steps forward with a signal for his two partners to lower their weapons. "You scared the hell out of us, Morgan!" he says as he walks quickly toward his friend, a grin spreading through the relief etched on his face. "But I'm damn glad to see you," he adds, embracing the dark man.

"Sorry about that," Morgan replies, glancing at all the faces behind Rick to include the others in his apology. "We ran out of gas at the bottom of the hill. Had to walk the last stretch and Duane had a little trouble with a can of split pea soup on your fence back there."

As Rick watches Morgan playfully shove his son's shoulder, a deep sense of gratitude settles over his soul. _They made it. Thank you baby Jesus._ A warm hand slips around his elbow and he looks down into a beautiful face. The smug smile that clearly says 'I told you so' stretches into sincere joy as Erin beams up at him.

"Hey, we wouldn't have gotten here at all if I didn't see those signs, Dad!" Duane says, swatting at Morgan's hand.

"I know, son. Good thing I gave you strong sharp eyes." Morgan pulls Duane into a quick forgiving hug and then turns back to the sheriff. "You did a nice job with those signs, Rick."

"I found most of them," Duane says proudly at his father's side.

"Well you did a great job getting your old man here, Duane." Rick gives the boy a brief hug himself and then steps back when a large furry mass nudges his thigh.

After introducing the Jones's to the group, starting with Nikki who was eager to make the boy's acquaintance once the sense of danger had passed, Rick tells Morgan about their efforts to search for a safer place to settle.

"Well I was thinking about heading to the coast," Morgan tells him. "We ran into a couple of guys on the way down here, say they're going to some Red Cross shelter set up in Savannah," he says and Rick feels the ghost of a trickle climb the back of his neck. "Supposedly got a cure for this thing there."

At the mention of the city on the coast, Rick looks to his right to meet Erin's excited eyes. "Savannah," he says, blending his voice with hers as they both recall the dream they had shared on the beachfront balcony.

"So that's why I brought us there," she says softly, a wistful expression on her face that mirrors the feeling in his heart.

He nods his head, finally confident in choosing their destination. "We're going to Savannah."

"Hold on!" Shane says quickly. "This guy throws out one fuckin' name and you're ready to follow him just like that?" He runs a hand through his dark hair, frustration coming off him in waves.

Seeing this kind of reaction from his partner countless times, Rick moves quickly to diffuse his temper. "Listen, Shane, I know it sounds crazy but Erin and I both had a dream last night about Savannah. And now Morgan tells us there may be a safe haven for us there?" he says, the statement coming out as a rhetorical question with his chin tilted and brows raised. "That's got to be the place for us."

"A dream? You're risking our lives based on a stupid dream?" Shane replies indignant.

"You've got to trust him, Shane," Erin says. "Even if it sounds ridiculous. You know he would never risk Carl's life on a flimsy gut feeling."

"I don't know anything anymore," Shane responds with a shake of his head. "I don't know how we got into this situation or how the hell we're gonna get out of it. But the one thing I do know is that Savannah is two hundred fifty miles away and Fort Benning is only a hundred and twenty. That's half the distance and a better chance of survival."

"We can't go to Fort Benning." Several voices echo the same thought and Rick holds up his palms to quiet the group.

"Alright, alright!" he says loudly. The voices drop to a murmur of agitated opinions and then fade to silence in respect of his command. But before he can continue, Dale jumps into the opening he'd created.

"Erin told me about the dreams you two have been experiencing, Rick," Dale says. "Now, I've always preferred to keep my skeptical feet planted firmly on solid ground, leaving all the paranormal mumbo jumbo to the free spirited hippie types. But I have to say," he continues in his usual straightforward way of speech that exudes a certain wisdom only earned with age. "Whatever is connecting the two of you through these dreams, I believe that we would be fools not to consider the message it is trying to convey." He finishes with a sincere smile at Erin and Rick watches her face light up.

As nods of agreement surround the older man, Rick breathes a sigh of relief.

 _It's settled._ He turns to address the group once again. "Okay, we'll take tomorrow to do a supply run and get everything in order," he says and then looks down at Erin. "And then we'll leave the next day."

"So that's it then?" Shane says, shaking his head. "It ain't right, man."

"We're not even going to consider any other options?" Andrea adds at Shane's side. "What happened to democracy?" she asks, clearly annoyed at Rick, and his decision.

"Democracy took a shit when the world went to hell," Daryl says hotly, matching Andrea's tone of annoyance. "Now y'all should just shut up and listen to Rick."

Rick holds back a grimace at Daryl's far from eloquent rebuttal and gives the man a brief nod, grateful that the hunter is fighting for him at least and not against him. "We'll see what the others say," he says to Andrea and then meets Shane's eyes directly. "But day after tomorrow, I'm taking my family to Savannah."

Rick watches his friend walk away, rolling his neck across broad tense shoulders. Recognizing the telltale sign that his best friend is seriously pissed, he knows that he will have to talk some sense into him later, after he cools down a bit. Rick learned a long time ago that if you want to change Shane's mind about something, you don't stand a chance in hell when his back is up.

When Andrea follows his partner in a huff of her own, Rick ignores the glare she throws back at him and turns to the woman at his side. The small compassionate smile the Erin gives him helps to counteract the bitterness left in the wake of the two forms storming off toward the tents. Returning her smile with a tender caress of her cheek, he gives her a grateful nod and then turns to their newest group member. "Come on, Morgan. Let's go get your car and then we'll look at the map again to figure the best route to the coast."

Twenty minutes later, after Duane was sent off with Jim to set up the tent that he'd brought with his father, Rick stands at the hood of Daryl's truck and focuses on a different section of the Georgia state map. He runs his finger along the thin line marking a two-lane road in Jonesboro. "We can head down toward Macon on forty-one and then head east 'til we hit Savannah."

"But we don't want to get too close to the city," Glenn says.

"No." Rick points to another spot and taps his finger against the map. "When we hit Forsyth we'll jump on eighteen here to stay north of Macon."

"And then we can pick up eighty in Jeffersonville," Glenn adds, grasping Rick's train of thought as he stretches a hand across the crisscrossing lines of the Georgia roadways.

"Exactly. As long as we don't hit trouble in Dublin or Statesboro, we can ride eighty all the way to Savannah." Rick feels a light touch on his arm and looks to Erin when she softly speaks his name.

"Shane's coming back," she says, jutting her chin toward the slope that stretches up from the tents.

Rick looks over to see his partner leading the rest of their group toward the gathering at Daryl's truck. Andrea is right on his heels with her sister Amy at her side, an expression of deep concern on the younger blonde's face. Merle walks a few paces behind the women, sporting a smug look of satisfaction while Jim and Jacqui follow him with their heads down, as if hoping to delay an inevitable regret.

A second group of refugees trail a short distance beyond Shane's troop. Kelly may be following the same path that Shane is taking, but from the space she is maintaining, it is clear that she is not in alliance with him. _Thank you Kelly!_ He watches her take Carl's hand and lead Carol and Sophia up the slope. With jaws clenched, Rick walks to the edge of the gravel driveway to meet Shane head on. He hears the crunching footsteps of his small group as they move to stand behind him. "What are you doing Shane?

"I'm going to Fort Benning and these guys are coming with me."

Rick watches his sister move around Shane's group to file in between Erin and Glenn. He meets the anxious look in her eyes. "We aren't going to Fort Benning. We're staying with you, Rick, wherever that may be."

He dips his chin in a short nod and looks at Carol who filled a hole between Dale and T-Dog, her arm wrapped tightly across Sophia's shoulders. There is a determination in her eyes despite the sense that she is clutching her daughter for borrowed strength. "What about Ed?" Rick asks. "Where is he?"

"He went for a walk." Carol lifts her head high and squares her shoulders, a stance Rick has never seen her hold before. "He's staying here. Sophia and I are not."

He admires her courage but he knows it won't be as easy as that. "He's really gonna let you two drive away with me?" he asks, unable to keep the skepticism from his voice.

"He won't have a choice," she replies somewhat softly though her chin is still tipped in fortitude.

"He wants to stay at the quarry," Kelly interjects. "Carol doesn't. We will get them safely out of here." She nods a promise to Carol and her daughter. "Right, Rick?"

"We will," he says, giving the woman a nodding vow of his own. Looking around him, he scans the faces to account for everyone in their camp and notices one other person missing. "What about Michonne?" he asks Kelly. "She's not staying here too, is she?"

"No, she's on our side," Kelly responds. "She's just lying down again."

"This sucks," Amy says glumly from Shane's side, her glare at Rick more upset than angry. "How can you make us choose like this?"

Guilt tries to creep up his spine at the miserable look on Amy's face but Rick hardens it into armor and takes aim at Shane. "Don't do this, brother. We stand a better chance of surviving if we all stay together. You know that."

"These guys want to go to Fort Benning," Shane says. "I'm more than happy to take them there."

"Jacqui, no!" Dale cries, shaking his head so hard his hat nearly dislodges from his crown. "Come on, Jim," he pleads to the bearded man next to the dark woman as he pulls the hat from his head. "We've got to follow Rick. He's our best chance."

"I don't know, Dale," Jacqui says. "But my uncle was a career military man and was stationed at Fort Benning for many years. I'm going to follow my own instinct and go there. Who's to say I have a better chance with one over the other? I'll leave my fate to the Lord."

"Merle?" Daryl asks anxiously as his brother moves to stand beside Shane, making his choice decisively known.

"Come on, Daryl." Merle waves his left hand in a lazy loop, as if expecting Daryl to come without question. Not for the first time, Rick wishes he had let the man die with his infected right hand. "This is the way to the promised land, little brother." He winces tightly, clearly still in pain.

"No it isn't!" Daryl replies defensively. "We have to stay with Rick and Erin. They're our best chance," he says a little softer, more pleading than arguing.

"The hell they are, Darlina."

"You can't fight so we need Rick and the other guys."

"It's his fuckin' fault I can't fight! And who says I can't anyways?" Merle roars. "I'll kill 'em all with my left God damn hand! Starting with him!" He takes a step toward Rick as he draws his good arm back.

Rick braces for the fight but Daryl blocks his brother before Merle has a chance to throw his arm forward.

"You go with Shane if you want," Daryl says more forcefully. "I'm staying with Rick and the others."

Rick meets Merle's fiery glare over Daryl's broad shoulder. Lifting his chin a notch, he refuses to let the man try to intimidate him. He holds the redneck's gaze for several long, heated moments, neither one of them backing down. And then Merle blinks once and spits in the dirt.

"A bunch of pussies we're followin' to God knows where!"

Rick relaxes his shoulders, easing the slight throb of the wound above his heart as he watches Merle walk away grumbling something about stupid little brothers.

* * *

While tension fills the camp as clusters of survivors discuss, dispute, implore and ignore the brittle threads of hardship and friendship, Rick sits at the table with Glenn and Daryl, his focus on the pages of the telephone book listings for veterinary offices in Cobb County. In his peripheral view, he sees Andrea storm off toward the woods after another argument with her sister. He had hoped Amy would've swayed her decision but it seems Andrea is being as stubborn as Shane.

When he'd tried talking to his friend earlier, Shane was very cordial but adamant about going to Fort Benning. No matter what Rick had said, his partner wouldn't even consider his words. He was sticking to his proverbial guns, and probably hoping that Rick would cave instead. Not a chance. Not after the dream.

The moment Morgan mentioned the small coastal city of Savannah, Rick knew in his heart that it had to be their target destination. Whether they find a refugee center at the end of their journey - God only knows. But he has to believe there is something there for them.

"There are a bunch of vets in Marietta we could hit." Glenn's voice pulls Rick's focus back to the small print in front of him.

"Prob'ly some old folks homes we can find too," Daryl adds. "My friend's granny lived up that way."

"Okay," Rick says. "Write down the addresses for those vets and then flip to the senior living pages."

"Dad?" Rick turns to see Carl walking toward him with Sophia and Duane. The boys had hit it off immediately, probably grateful to have another young friend in a world where children are an endangered species. "Can Duane and Sophia ride with us when we go to Savannah?"

Before he can reply, the clamor of stones clinking inside a line of tin cans draws his attention to the woods that Andrea had just walked into.

"Who else did you invite up here?" Daryl asks half-jokingly.

"No one," Rick replies as he rises slowly from the table, his eyes peering through the trees at the edge of their camp. When a woman's painful shriek is followed by a single gunshot that pierces the wind, his mouth dries up as his heart drops into his belly.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-seven

A terrifying sense of panic taints the warm air already charged with the tension of discontented survivors. Erin rushes toward Rick as he jumps from the table with his hand reaching for the gun at his belt.

"Stay here!" Rick tells her with a hand on his son's shoulder, nudging the boy into her arms.

"Be careful, Rick." Her throat thickens as she tries to swallow the fear climbing up from her chest. She watches him lead Daryl and Glenn into the woods behind the Dixon's tent as Amy and Jacqui come to stand by her.

"What was that, Erin? Oh, God," Amy says looking around the camp frantically. "Where's my sister?" she asks nervously as Shane and T-Dog rush into the trees behind Glenn. "Andrea!"

"Shh," Erin releases Carl and turns to her distraught friend, taking her hands into her own. "We have to be quiet if there are walkers out there," she says in a soft calming tone that she is proud to have executed with the icy terror chilling her veins.

"Where's Andrea?" Amy asks miserably, looking toward the woods where the crunch and crackle of the men's tracks can be heard below their hushed voices.

"I don't know." Shifting her feet until she is standing in front of Amy, Erin tugs on her friend's hands to draw her focus. When Amy finally meets her gaze she adds, "But if she's out there, Rick will find her."

"That's right, Amy," Dale says when he joins them a moment later with a troubled expression and a rifle in his grip.

When the distinctive pitch of scraping tin echoes noisily from the forest, Erin turns back toward the woods as Kelly arrives to wrap a comforting arm around Amy. Rick's voice is heard shouting above the garbled sounds of the other men and Erin's heart kicks into overdrive. "Oh God," she murmurs as she closes her eyes. _Please be careful, honey._ She drops her chin against her fists and curls her fingers around the neckline of Rick's white tee shirt, willing him to walk out of the woods. "Please, please, please," she whispers as his voice dissolves into distorted words, though no less urgent in tone.

Feeling the warmth of a small body pressing against her ribs, she opens her eyes and pulls Carl into a tight embrace. "I want Dad," he says against her chest.

The emotional strain that clips his voice gives her an idea of what he must have gone through when his father was in a coma. The thought nibbles at her heart and she prays that she won't have to watch him live through that again. "Me too, sweetie." She presses her lips to the top of his dark hair. "I'm sure he'll be right back," she says soothingly before glancing over her shoulder at the sound of anxious murmurs behind her.

Her French braid gets caught in the path of a gusty breeze and she absently lifts a hand to slip a loosened twist of auburn hair behind her ear, and notices the rest of their group gathered in the center of the campsite. For the first time since Shane's announcement of going off on his own, the survivors are banded as one, clinging to each other in support, in comradery… in fear.

Erin feels safe enough with Dale and Jim watching the woods surrounding them, armed with rifles and constantly turning their heads in a slow arc of surveillance, but she is terrified for Rick and the other men who seem to have been swallowed up by the thick forest.

With nothing but the erratic sound of fretful breaths that echo her own troubled lungs, an unearthly silence fills their patch above the quarry.

The streaming clouds have hindered their blustery breezes, leaving the Georgia air warm and lifeless. The living soul of the forest, with its fill of beaks and claws and antennae, seems to be holding its breath as well. Not a chirp or flutter can be heard from the thicket that Erin is so intently focused upon. The usually talkative birds are excruciatingly quiet - in respect of the dead or in pity of the soon-to-be, she wonders.

The grass under her restlessly shifting feet feels like it is growing faster than the ten endless minutes that slither listlessly beneath the dying sun.

When the unmistakable sound of thin wood snapping beneath a heavy boot with a purposeful stride drifts out from the towering trees, the flutter in her belly squirms with an impatient squeal. A tall form emerges from the forest and Erin immediately recognizes Rick's wide brimmed hat shading the man in the dark gray shirt, now garnished with splatters of wet blotches.

She is one step behind Carl as they both rush out to meet him.

Leaping into his father's arms, Carl clings to Rick's shoulders as the sheriff crushes his boy to his chest. The relief Erin feels at the sight burns sharply in her throat. A moment later Rick is pulling her against Carl's wiry body to include her in the emotional embrace.

"It's okay now," he murmurs against Carl's head and then Erin feels his lips pressing into her own hair.

She leans back to meet his eyes and he swings Carl onto his hip. "What happened, Rick?"

"It was a handful of walkers," he answers softly. "We got them," he adds and then looks beyond Erin's shoulder. She knows he is meeting the eyes of her friends that must have followed her out. He swallows hard and tilts his head slightly. She sees his eyes soften with sympathy for the words forming on his tongue as Amy asks about her sister. He hesitates and in that moment Erin's mouth goes dry with the knowledge that their fears had come true. "I'm so sorry, Amy," he says gently, shaking his head as if he truly does not want to say the words that they all know are coming. "They got Andrea."

"Nooo!"

Erin turns at the sound of her friend's agonizing cry as Carl buries his face in his daddy's neck, heavy sobs wracking his small body. With tears streaming down her own cheeks, she wraps her arms around Amy, holding the young woman tightly as Jacqui steps forward to add her own comforting hands. When Amy's knees give out, Erin is grateful for Jacqui's presence as their friend collapses into a heap on the ground.

Offering tender words of sympathy that most likely go unheard, Erin feels utterly helpless when she sees Shane walk out of the woods carrying Andrea like a lifeless bride. "Oh my God." The reality of it hits her hard, crushing her chest and dislodging a deep, choking sob as Amy begins to wail in her arms.

Amy's anguish fills the air and Erin's heart breaks for the devastated woman; a sister who regrets the harshness of the last words spoken to a loved one. Those words will carry on the wind and cling to the earth as they live in the shadow of this guilt-ridden survivor; a loving sister who will never have the chance to replace those words with genuine terms of affection.

Crouched in the grass with Amy, Erin is barely aware of Rick handing Carl off to his Aunt Kelly. When he walks slowly to Carol, whose tears match those of the daughter held tightly to her side, Erin catches the odd expression on his face and knows what he is going to say before he utters a single word.

"Ed was attacked too," he tells Carol softly. "I'm really sorry." There is no mistaking the sincerity in his voice, but knowing him so well, Erin also reads a flash of something else in his eyes; _the world won't be mourning the loss of this man._

She watches a myriad of emotions streak across Carol's face in a matter of seconds; from shock to grief to remorseful relief and then settling with a strange sense of guarded sorrow.

Erin meets Jacqui's eyes over Amy's blonde hair. "Go," the dark woman says with a nod as she blinks away fresh tears. "I'll stay with her."

Erin gives Amy a quick heartfelt squeeze and then stands to comfort another dear friend. Walking toward Carol, she sees Rick turn back to Kelly and reach for his son. The boy wiggles quickly into his father's arms and sticks his face into the crook of his neck. For a moment she wishes she could do the same; dry her tears on the man whose strength gets her through every wretched moment of every God-forsaken day.

Wrapping her arms around Carol and Sophia, Erin watches Kelly move over to sit with Amy and Jacqui as Daryl stands off to the side, regarding Carol with an odd look on his face; an awkward mixture of sympathy and pain. He seems rooted to the spot and Erin's heart constricts a little more, hurting for whatever he has endured to put such a strong fission of empathy into his gaze.

"Nobody goes into the woods again!" Rick yells as T-Dog and Glenn walk out of the forest and into their clearing. Glenn looks exhausted, Erin thinks. And sad. Very, very sad.

"Are there more of them out there?" Kelly asks with a sniffle, fear giving her voice a squeaky pitch.

"Not right now, no. I think those few just followed Morgan and Duane up the hill," Ricks says. "But just to be safe, I want more teams on watch until we leave. One team east of the tents and another on the western border."

Duane's face falls as he turns into his father's side. Guilt creeps into Morgan's expression and Erin's heart aches just a little bit more.

* * *

The warm air inside the tent helps to thaw the chill inside her grief stricken bones as Erin dries her tears on the clean black shirt covering Rick's broad shoulder. The hand gliding up and down in a soothing motion along her spine rests on her hip when she leans back and drags a wrist beneath her nose with a heavy sniffle. She takes a deep breath, easing the large lump in her throat. "What did you see out there, Rick?"

"Andrea was fighting off two walkers," he says softly. "She was bleeding pretty bad from her arm so I think she'd already been bit. Before we could reach her a third one came up from behind and bit her neck. There was nothing we could do," he says, his voice full of regret.

The image he'd just created burns horribly vivid behind her puffy eyes and her throat swells tight again.

"We searched the woods to make sure there weren't any more. We found Ed lying beneath two walkers. He was already gone."

A fresh wave of misery roils her little flutter. Not so much for Andrea and Ed - God knows she won't miss that man - but for what else _could_ have happened. The fact that the walkers had gotten so close to camp. What if it had been Carl out there. Her belly rolls as a dread-filled chill scurries up her nape, sending a shiver from shoulder to shoulder. Rick pulls her close again and guides her head to rest easy against his chest.

"What are we going to do now?" she says, her voice hoarse and laced with despair as her fists clutch the material at his lower back.

"Tomorrow we'll bury Andrea and go on a quick supply run. Then the next morning," he continues, squeezing her tightly, "we get the hell out of here. Head for Savannah, just like we planned."

The thought of Savannah helps to soothe her frayed nerves. She closes her eyes and can almost feel the cobblestones beneath her feet as she walks along River Street, a gamut of seafood flavors drifting out of the restaurants to tease her senses. She imagines turning a corner toward the pretty garden squares nestled among the old Victorian homes with their gingerbread trim and wraparound porches. Their vibrant colors are shaded from the hot Georgia sun by the arching oak and cypress trees that line the quiet streets. Draped in swathes of Spanish moss, the trees remind her of the majestic weeping willow on the edge of their dream lake. She smiles at the memory of those dreams, and prays that their latest vision truly is the answer that they had been looking for; a safe haven to escape the horrors of the world and build a life worth living. Protected by miles of sandy beaches along the beautiful islands that make up its coastline, she is hopeful that the charming city of Savannah does indeed stand as a refuge. If only they can get there. _Please God._ "We _will_ make it to Savannah, won't we?"

"We will, honey." He doesn't hesitate with his answer and she draws strength from that.

She inhales deeply, breathing him in and gathering more courage from his presence alone; the capable muscles beneath her hands, the strong heart beating soundly in her ear, the sharp mind that she would follow to the ends of the earth. "I love you, Rick."

"I love you back, sweetheart. Always."


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty Eight

The light rain falls with a heartbeat of its own, weeping for them all on this miserable muggy morning. It is not a cleansing rain but a sad woeful drip that envelopes their despair. The trees sway gently in a dance of mournful pity as the dark gray clouds drift across the sky, their stride of indifference casting a slim ray of scorn. The air itself is feeding off their sorrow, thickening with every passing teardrop that streams down Erin's face.

She mourns for the sister that is left behind, for the group of survivors that is now irrevocably torn apart, and for the sense of security which is now completely unattainable in the harsh reality of this ravaged world.

With most of the group already returned to camp, it is a small procession that she follows out of the tidy peaceful meadow where they'd laid Amy's sister to rest, to sleep beneath the tall trees and pretty flowers. Dale, who had given a beautiful eulogy during the short sentimental service to memorialize the life of Andrea Harrison, had picked the spot near a particularly robust red maple tree, saying that it would warm her in the cold winter months and shade her on long summer days. Erin loved that about Dale. He was clever and kind and he knew how to make the best of a bad thing in his own practical way.

With her hand warming in Rick's, she hears another sniffle from Carol as she and Kelly lead a despondent Amy down the path toward the campsite. Her tears are more likely for her friends than for her late husband, whose body they'd left for the earth to claim in the place where he'd taken his last cruel breath. Carol did not want to honor him with a burial and nobody felt the need to argue with her decision, agreeing to _'Let him rot with the rest of the monsters.'_

Though her heart is heavy with grief for a friend, Carol seems to be walking with a certain buoyancy in her stride, a newfound easiness which favors that of a frightened bird that has suddenly discovered its wings.

As Carol wipes a hand across her cheek, Erin hears Kelly say, "You can ride in our car tomorrow, Amy. You can hang out in the back of the van with me and Carl. We'll let Erin sit up front with Rick so they can be close to each other. God knows they'll stop breathing if they go more than ten minutes without touching each other," she says dramatically and Erin catches the corner of her teasing eye-roll.

Rick tugs on Erin's hand as Kelly's words help to ease the sadness weighing on their hearts. She smiles up into his beautiful eyes, squeezing his fingers in return.

"I can't go with you, Kelly," Amy murmurs sadly.

"What?" Kelly replies. "What are you talking about? Of course you can come with us. There's plenty of room."

"I can't," Amy repeats. "Andrea wanted me to go with Shane. So I'm going to Fort Benning. I have to," she adds, her tone empty, completely void of emotion.

"No, Amy. You don't have to," Kelly insists, bringing the procession to a halt as she stops in the middle of the path to face the distraught woman.

"I do, Kelly," she responds with a heavy sigh that bears the weight of tremendous guilt as it deflates her shoulders.

Erin sees the sorrow in her friend's eyes cloud over with an even more dangerous emotion; the acceptance of defeat. _No!_ Releasing Rick's hand, she clutches Amy's forearm, unaware that she'd even stepped forward to do so. "Amy, don't do this. You can't give up!"

"Just because I'm going with Shane doesn't mean I'm giving up."

"The hell it doesn't!" Erin exclaims, frustration and terror sharpening her tongue.

"Hey, Red." Rick's soft voice and soothing touch against her lower back pulls her attention from the forlorn look on Amy's face. "You're not helping her, honey."

"So we're just going to let her walk off into the sunset with Shane, knowing that she'll welcome the death that will bring her back to her sister?!"

"Easy now!" Rick pulls her round to face him, gripping her upper arms as he steps between her and Amy. She shrugs defensively and tries to pull away but his fingers refuse to let her go.

"I have to go, Erin!" Amy says miserably, now standing in the circle of Carol's arms.

Erin isn't aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks, nor those of the three women at Rick's back. She barely registers the fingers digging into her arms. "Look at her face, Rick, and tell me she isn't quitting!"

"Enough! She's dealing with a lot of shit right now, Red, and you've got to let her figure it out." He lifts his hands to her cheeks and rubs his thumbs through her tears. "Screaming at her is not the way, baby. You know that," he adds softly.

The tenderness in his expression is more powerful than the fingers that were digging into her flesh. Swallowing with a hiccup, she shakes her head sadly as the soft drizzle strengthens into a light rain. "We can't let her go, Rick."

"I don't know what else to do, Erin!" Amy cries. "What am I supposed to do?" The rhetorical question is punctuated with a wretched sob.

"You fight! And you keep on fighting!" Erin yells around Rick's shoulder, wiping moisture from her face that is a mixture of tears and rainwater.

A sudden crack and rumble of thunder promises to release a storm that will shake the camp, summing up Andrea's final day in a tumultuous world, and the aftermath that it has created.

"Please, Amy." Carol says through her own tears. "Please come with us."

"Don't give up yet, Amy," Erin cries. "Please," she adds more gently as Rick loosens his grip and she steps around him.

"Listen, Amy," Rick says with all the compassion that Erin had lost beneath the fear of losing her friend. "Just think about it, okay? You were ready to come with us from the start. You felt strongly enough to argue with Andrea about it," he says gently, hesitating for just a moment on her sister's name as if forcing the syllables from his throat was physically painful. "I know you want to honor your sister, but you've got to believe that she would want you to be happy, to go on living without her… to _survive_." Erin loves him for the way he underscored that final word. It's the one thing programmed into our DNA that overpowers all other human nature; the basic instinct to preserve oneself. She prays that her friend finds it before it is swallowed up completely by her shattered heart. "And if you want to survive, you've got to come with us," Rick adds as the wind picks up and the rain comes down.

"You know he's right, Amy," Kelly says, brushing her soggy bangs out of her eyes. "Please listen to him."

"I can't," she cries, turning away from their desperate pleas. "I have to go." Her voice breaks on the last word as she flees up the dirt path, stumbling on a protruding rock or root but catching herself to continue her race back to her tent, and the numbness of her despair.

* * *

With misery her constant companion, Amy is still in the tent and hour later when Erin watches Rick drive away with Daryl and Glenn on a search for gasoline and food, the main ingredients for their survival. She promised him that she would give Amy space to figure things out on her own, but she can't stop glancing across the camp to the tent where her friend is wallowing in agonizing sorrow and debilitating guilt.

Jacqui steps out occasionally, carrying bags and small plastic totes to the Pelletier's van, which Carol had insisted they take on their journey south.

Erin desperately wants to say something to her, but fears it would only upset them both. So each time they cross paths in their efforts of packing up their belongings, she has kept her eyes on the ground at her feet as Jacqui focuses on her own stretch of grass.

The day passes in this fashion, like two separate meals going on at one dinner table. The lines are clearly drawn with nobody crossing sides. Not even Amy who finally emerges at dinner, but sits between Shane and Jim and Jacqui across their last quarry campfire, which feels like a vast battlefield tonight.

After thirty minutes of softly spoken questions and murmured replies on one side of the fire or the other, Shane stands to address his troop. "We should turn in soon. I want to get on the road just before dawn. That means we're up before the birds, so…"

Erin watches Rick shoot to his feet from the chair next to her.

"Shane." Rick tilts his head, a final questioning plea unspoken on his tongue. His partner meets his gaze as everyone rises from their seats, watching the two men, waiting in wide-eyed silence.

After several tension-filled heartbeats, Shane shakes his head gently and then nods, his lip curling into a sincere smile. "Good luck in Savannah, man."

Rick meets his friend in two long strides and pulls Shane's outstretched hand into a hug worthy of blood brothers. Erin catches the shimmer of their eyes in the firelight and then she is being enveloped by Jacqui's dark sinewy arms. Strangled by emotion, no words are spoken as they convey their feelings with the hands clinging to one another.

* * *

Through the starless black sky, the soft rain kisses the trees and drizzles on the roof of the tent in a soothing patter. Erin can barely see his outline, but she can feel every inch of Rick beneath and inside of her. The pungent aroma of their coupling floats heavy on the air inside the tent as she relaxes into him, melting against his body. Limbs that were tense with carnal indulgence are now loose and limber as her heart begins to calm and her legs tingle with aftershocks.

They had held onto each other in grief and clung to one another in fear, and then, with the notion of tomorrow's journey hanging over their heads with its unknown possibilities and probable misfortunes, they tore at each other with an urgency borne on desperation.

With her forehead against his jaw, the soft hairs curling across his chest tickle her chin as she feels his heart beating profoundly beneath her ear. His left hand rests on the slope of her ass while the other glides affectionately up and down along her spine. She lightly traces a square around the bandage covering the healing wound above his heart as the tingling in her legs recedes. He invigorates and terrifies her all in a single breath. "God, what you do to me, Rick," she murmurs.

"Yeah, sweetheart. I know the feeling," he replies, breathing heavily. "It's like I can't get enough of you. I'll never get enough of you."

That too, she thinks. "It's like we have to make up for all the time we weren't together."

"Yeah. I get it now. Everything I've done in the last three years has led me straight to you. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out."

"I knew you'd catch up to me eventually." She smiles sleepily into his chest as he softens inside of her.

"You did, didn't you," he says with a deep breath as his arms tighten around her back.

"Always." From the moment their eyes had connected and held after he'd watched her undress in the tent that first night, and looking back at every dream they'd shared – especially his sexy dreams that she had only slightly felt on a kind of subliminal level, and never admitted to knowing about for fear of scaring him away from her tent – she had always known that he was hers and she was his, in every sense that truly mattered. She believes that they would have found each other even if he hadn't been searching for his family after the world had ended.

They would have met in the hospital when he woke from his coma one busy afternoon before the end of her shift. Or they would have run into each other at the grocery and struck up a conversation on an early Saturday morning. No doubt in her mind that she would have been drawn to him as strongly as she's been for the past month; like oxygen to a flame - unable to survive without the life he breathes into her. "Rick?" she asks softly and waits, wondering if he is still awake.

"Hmm?"

His reply is low but he is still conscious so she continues. "How long will it take us to get to Savannah?"

He sighs deeply and then speaks with a tired but clear voice. "Hard to say. Two months ago it would've been four or five hours, depending on the Atlanta traffic. On the backroads now, it could take us four or five days. More if we hit a lot of roadblocks.

"We're not all going to make it, are we?" she asks softly. He doesn't say anything and the silence stretches between them. Just when she thinks he may have fallen asleep, she feels his chest rise with the whisper of his words against her hair.

"I promise you, Erin, you will make it to Savannah. And so will Carl and Kelly."

"And you too, Rick. Right?" she says, suddenly wide awake with a lump tightening her throat and a knot in her belly as her flutter doubles over in fear.

"Definitely," he says without hesitation. "I will be there to keep you safe. I promise."

"I love you." Her eyes sting with profound emotion for the magnitude of what this man means to her.

"I love you back, Red. Always."

She listens to his heart beating beneath her ear for a few long moments, gaining strength from its sturdy presence as the arms at her back loosen with the prospect of sleep. A slice of stubbornness twists the corner of her mouth into a slight frown. "Well if we're not all going to make it, I'll gladly give up Merle," she murmurs in defiance to fate.

"What?" His chest vibrates with laughter beneath her. "I can't believe you just said that," he says, still chuckling as his arms tighten against her back once again.

"I know, that's awful." She turns her cheek to bury her face in his chest. "God forgive me."

"I don't think Daryl would be happy about that."

"No he wouldn't," she says somberly, returning her ear to his chest. "But I still think you need to watch your back around him. He'll never forgive you for taking his hand. Even if it did save his life."

"Yeah, I know. But you've got to stop worrying about that. I can handle him," Rick replies with a confidence that does little to ease her fears. "He's the least of our problems right now."

"Yeah, but if I start thinking about the two hundred and fifty miles we have to cross to get to Savannah, I'll never fall asleep."

"So think of something else. Something positive," he says, dragging his knuckles along her ribs just hard enough to keep her ticklish skin from squirming.

"Like how wonderful the world is now without any obnoxious cops pulling you over for going a wee bit over the speed limit?" she teases.

"I'll have you know that I was never obnoxious when I pulled over a speed demon such as yourself."

"You didn't lose your southern charm as you were writing up those tickets?"

"Only with the stuck up northerners that always seemed to be in a hurry," he teases, lightly tapping her rear.

"Jeez, if I'd ever gotten the privilege of being pulled over by you, you'd have had me in handcuffs for resisting arrest."

"Ooh, thanks for that image."

She smiles, enjoying the vision herself as she thinks of the uniform folded neatly on the cot a few feet away. "You probably would have frisked me or something too, right?"

"Well you would've forced me to. You know, resisting arrest and all."

"And I'm sure you would've been quite thorough."

"Of course. I was very good at my job," he says and she can hear the smile in his voice in the dark.

"Mmm, I'm sure you were." She lifts her cheek slightly to kiss his jaw.

"You would have broken more speed limits in a rush to get home to your vibrator," he says with a laugh that is full of male cockiness.

She laughs along with him, adoring his flirty remarks. But she'll never give up an opportunity to tease Rick mercilessly. "Aww, don't remind me. I miss him so much!" She chuckles deep in her throat as he grips the back of her neck.

"Hey! You don't need that thing anymore."

"Says who?" she goads as he squeezes her nape.

"Says me. I got your toy right here, baby." He moves his hips and she feels him stir inside of her. Even at half-mast, he is still quite large and pretty impressive, tucked steadfast and sturdy within her.

She lifts her head to look at his face in the shadows. Though she can barely see the circles of his eyes, she knows they are dancing in a spirited blaze of blue. Resting her chin on her fist, she feels the warm exhale of his breath ghosting against her lips. "Yeah, but what good are you when your batteries run out?"

"Who needs batteries?" He shifts beneath her, driving his groin up into hers and she feels him thicken slightly.

"Ummm…" she hums, tilting her head as if deep in thought and searching for the answer to a riddle. She smiles as she can practically hear his brows drawing together in concentration. "This better be worth the wait, sheriff," she teases.

"Oh it will be," he says, tightening his arms around her back and flipping them over without breaking their connection.

She strokes the back of his neck as he lies heavy upon her, gradually stiffening within her. Bridging their minds as well as their bodies, he rests his forehead against hers as he rotates his hips, slowly driving his cock in and out of her tender flesh. The slick friction brings him to life once again and it isn't long before she is clawing at his shoulders as her flutter moans low in her belly.

Leaning back to shift into full throttle, he slips an arm behind each of her knees and raises her legs to an exquisite angle. The heightened pressure on her sex builds and blossoms as he plunges deeper and deeper into her quaking body.

With her entire universe narrowed down to the radiant fluttering at the crux of their union, she forgets the existence of batteries as one singular thought dances through her mind; _Yes!_


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N I hope you guys enjoyed last nights episode as much as I did. Thank you Mr. Gimple for our yummy shirtless sheriff!**

 **And many thanks to my lovely reviewers! Please keep it coming. Now for another tiny taste of shirtless Rick... Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-nine

 _The sand is soft and cool beneath Rick's feet, sifting between his toes and kicking up against his faded blue jeans as he walks. The strong summer wind blows warm against his bare chest and furls the white cotton of Erin's sundress where her thighs rest comfortably on his hips. Adjusting his arms, he shifts her weight higher and feels the supple fullness of her breasts pressing harder against his back as she tightens her grip, clinging to his shoulders like a spider monkey._

 _He carries her toward the ocean, where the sun sits in a band of orange that stretches across the horizon, rising into a hopeful sky with its blending shades of blue. He smiles at the beauty before him where a breadth of gold highlights a path from the sun to the sand, glimmering upon the water like a beacon encouraging him forward._

 _The beauty on his back squeezes his chest as her laughter, true and treasured and tauntingly sweet, chimes in his ear before her teeth nip playfully at his lobe._

 _Twenty feet from the Atlantic waves that are rushing to meet the shores of Savannah's Tybee Island, the sand shifts and shimmers below him as the echo of the rolling ocean fades away with a suddenly swift receding tide._

Rick opens his eyes, puzzled for a moment to find Erin curled up in front of him on an air mattress instead of clinging to his back on a beach. In the hazy space between clarity and confusion, he lowers his eyelids again, trying to regain the texture of the sand in his toes and the wind in his hair. Erin stirs in front of him, pulling on the arm draped over her waist until his forearm is held captive against her chest. A soft sound, something caught between a laugh and a sigh, rumbles from her throat as she sleeps.

Closer to wakefulness now than the rusty realm of the dream, he floats all the way to the surface and inhales the lovely scent that is her; pure woman with a trace of wild flowers warming in sunshine. With the touch of her hand curled over his and the perfectly shaped ass sitting snugly against his morning stiffy, he recalls the dream and relaxes into the sheer sense of peacefulness that envelops him.

When a deep familiar voice seeps through the thin tent walls, the moment of serenity is splintered as a volley of murmured questions and answers and more questions drifts across the camp. Rick lifts his head from the pillow, an automatic reaction to get up and help his friends.

And then he remembers that they are not going with him.

A bitter bead of frustration sours his mood and he lowers his head again. If he went out there now, he may stir up stubborn tempers and bring words back into play that would most definitely be better left unsaid. They'd ended on good terms last night, and for that he will be forever grateful.

With a heavy heart he takes a deep breath, drinking in the intoxicating tonic that is Erin. She is more potent than anything he'd ever used to escape his troubled teenage years. He flexes the arm that she holds pressed against her body and moves his knees until they are tucked into the backs of hers. Though he needs to relieve himself, he doesn't move for some time. Lying still, he focuses on the sound of her even breathing and the tickle of her dark ginger waves brushing against his jaw.

When he finally hears the tires of Carol's minivan driving over the gravel path, his belly churns as the sound fades, until he is left with nothing but the light chatter of the birds as they begin to stir in the treetops. Still he doesn't rise. He recalls the promise that Shane had made that he would look for them in Savannah if it didn't work out at Fort Benning. But Rick knows in his gut that they won't find each other again. He just prays that Shane stays safe, wherever he may land.

He thinks of everything that they had gone through together – first as kids and then as partners in law enforcement. Years of teamwork, trouble and tremendous fun; the good, the bad and the sometimes ugly.

Eventually, the old memories blend into current situations as the discomfort in his groin reminds him that his bladder is on the verge of bursting. He presses his lips to the column of Erin's neck and slowly slips his arm out from her gentle grip. "Love you," he whispers to the mass of tangled curls streaming down her nape.

The morning had broken with a pale circle of sun rising into a clear blue sky. Rick stands on the trail near the quarry's edge with a cup of steaming black coffee in his hand. Gazing out at the eastern skies, that earlier sense of tranquility washes over him again and he knows that going to the small city is the right thing to do.

He'd been confident enough with his decision over the past two days, but now, standing here and looking out toward the sky that shines upon Savannah, he can practically taste the salty ocean air on his tongue like a sweet victory. They haven't even left the quarry yet, but still he feels triumphant.

Standing tall in his full King County Sherriff's uniform, he feels ready to take on the world. Which, he realizes, is exactly what he will be doing with the infestation of the walking dead.

They may go through hell to get to the coast, but he knows they will get there eventually. This morning's lovely dream helps to fuel that conviction. _Someday I will carry her on that beach._ He hadn't been _that_ sure of anything since waking from the coma.

He'd always been fairly confident in his decisions, relying on his instincts and trusting his gut. But for the past month he'd found himself second-guessing some choices, not as sure of himself as he used to be. The foundations of his decisions don't feel quite so solid when the lives of his loved ones are at stake.

Dale had given him little encouragement the other night. His pearl of wisdom had been to _'Surround yourself with good people and follow your instincts. But guide it with the knowledge gained from all the lessons you've learned that got you this far. Trust your gut, Rick,'_ he'd told him in that slow, smoothly perceptive way that he had, _'but allow your wits to lead you.'_

Well that sounds very nice and flows real pretty, but Dale couldn't know that most of the lessons he'd learned were from the consequences brought forth for stubbornly listening to said gut. The thought had not been very comforting at all.

But today was different. He'd felt it as soon as he'd risen from the embers of sleep and inhaled the delicious elixir of Erin's sweet scent. And he continues to feel it as he focuses on a single wisp of a cloud in the vibrant blue sky, drifting off in the distance beyond Atlanta.

In his lighthearted state, the fluffy streak of white gives him hope, as if it had been put up there solely for him; his very own North Star to lead his people.

He'd never been a real religious man, other than casually believing in a higher power that goes by the name of 'God', to be called upon when things aren't going your way, and then disregarded when he leaves you to fix your own problems in His silence.

Rick hasn't seen the inside of a church since the last Christmas Eve service he'd attended as a married man over three years ago. Though he'd said the Lord's name countless times throughout those years – especially in more recent moments of fear or passion or anger, he has never been one for prayers of the bended-knee-hands-clapped-together kind. But today, looking up at the crystalline heavens with such a quiet calmness in his bones, he feels like maybe God isn't holding that against him.

Perhaps the little white cloud will lead them all the way to the shoreline. And, God-willing, it won't thicken into an ominous thunderstorm before they get there.

* * *

"That's all we're gonna get in the camper now."

Rick shoves two more sleeping bags into the cargo box on top of Morgan's blue and silver Honda Element, and then turns at the sound of Glenn's voice behind him.

"There's just enough room for Michonne to lay in the back and for Dale to sleep in the overhead bunk," Glenn says, swatting a fly away from his perspiring forehead.

"Alright, I don't think we have much left anyway," Rick replies. "We can throw the rest of the chairs in the back of the pickup with Merle's bike and the fishing gear will go in the jeep with you and T-Dog."

"Got it."

As Glenn walks away to retrieve the well-worn tackle box, Rick closes the hatch on the aerodynamic cargo carrier. Turning to help the others fold up the remaining chairs around the cold fire pit, he spots Carl standing near the back of the sleeper van, rooted to the spot with his eyes on the narrow road leading out of the quarry.

With Darth Vader staring out from the book bag strapped to his back, he gives the illusion of a kid waiting for a school bus. But as Rick approaches his son, he sees a fearful expression on the boy's face that he'd never learned in a classroom. It's not a terrified look of immediate danger, thank God, but a certain anxiety for an unknown future. The tension in his stubby brows highlights the distress in his young eyes and Rick's heart breaks for his child. He realizes just how frightening this trip must be for Carl, who has never left the quarry since being whisked away from a dying society. He'd been insulated up here, protected, cocooned. He'd gotten glimpses of the new world with the couple of walkers that made it up the hill to the camp, but conjuring a much grander scale with the imagination of young boy, Rick can imagine all the ghastly horrors that Carl's mind has created, all the monstrosities he believes are waiting for him at the bottom of the hill. _Christ._ "Hey, bud," he says softly, crouching in front of his son and pushing the brim of his hat up to meet the boy's eyes, a darker version of his own in this precious face.

"What's going to happen to us, Dad?" Carl says sadly.

"Well, we are going to hop in this car and drive out of here, and we're gonna keep on driving until we reach Savannah," he says gently, trying to keep his tone light and his point simple. With the miserable face staring back at him with a look that is begging for reassurances, Rick adds, "It's alright, Carl. We're gonna be okay, buddy."

Carl blinks quickly as if trying to deter the tears that are glistening at the back of his eyes. "I'm scared."

Rick pulls the boy into his arms. "I promise I'll keep you safe, Carl. Always," he vows, squeezing his son tightly before pulling back to hold him at arm's length. "I'll never let anything happen to you. Okay?"

Carl nods his head in agreement but a single tear slips from the corner of his eye, crushing Rick's heart. It kills him that his son will never have the freedom of a normal childhood, where the toughest hardship would be deciding whether to stay at first base or daring to stretch a single into a double. He's trying to be so strong, so mature, but the tears expose his fears and Rick has to look away to hide the fright in his own eyes. _Ah hell._

He takes a deep breath and pastes a small smile on his lips before looking back at Carl. "Hey, did I ever tell you that this hat has special powers?" Dropping his chin, he removes the hat that he'd worn so proudly for over a decade. Carl shakes his head, sniffling loudly. "Well it does," he says as he unscrews the dusty gold star from the front panel. "This hat was made with an extra dose of bravery sewn inside the fabric."

Carl looks at him with a familiar tilt to his chin. His eyes soften with wry humor as his mouth curves into a true smirk. "Come on, Dad. Get real."

"Seriously. So much bravery seeped into my head that there isn't room for any more to fit. I think maybe it's time to pass it down," Rick says solemnly as he gently places the hat on top of Carl's small head. The boy lifts his chin to follow his eyes upward and the hat immediately dips down to his nose. Rick pushes it back, setting it right again, for now anyway. "We'll add some padding later to make it fit better. Okay?" he asks sincerely, the one word encompassing much more than the fit of the hat.

Carl nods his head with a proud smile that quickly gives way to a slight pout as his eyes glimmer with a tinge of misery. "Dad?"

"Yeah?" Rick replies hesitantly, knowing that something else is bothering his son.

"Why can't we just stay here?"

"It's not safe here, Carl."

"But what if Mom comes here and she can't find us?"

 _My God, where did that come from?_ "Oh, buddy. I don't think she's…," he pauses, trying to say the words gently. "I know you want to believe she's alive, son," he says as softly as possible. "But you have to accept that we aren't going to see her again."

Carl's eyes well up and spill over, crushing Rick under the staggering weight of every teardrop. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again and you came back."

 _Oh God_. He swallows hard, drowning in his son's pain. "Oh, Carl," he says softly, shaking his head slightly. "That was a miracle that I ended up here." _That was all Erin and the force of her love for me._ "When the virus broke, it happened so fast that people got pulled under it before they knew what hit them. That's what happened to Mom," he tries to explain ever so gently. "You've got to let her go, son."

His little boy's face crumbles and Rick pulls him into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry, buddy. So damned sorry."

Crying hard against his shoulder, Carl lifts his head with a loud hiccup. "Maybe she just got lost on her way home from work."

Rick's eyes sting for the heartache he is causing his child. He knows that the only thing that would've kept Lori from getting home that night was the virus. On the verge of telling Carl just that, he holds his tongue and takes a different route. "I don't know, Carl. But maybe," he says, trying to convey a sense of hope, no matter how thin the thread. Because he doesn't have the heart to make his son suffer through the devastation of losing his mother again, he says, "Maybe she's still driving around looking for you. But there is no way we can call and talk to her, so you can't expect that we'll ever see her again."

Carl straightens up with a stiff sniffle and a small grin. "I know. But maybe we'll run into her on the way to Savannah."

Rick gives him a tight smile. "Maybe," he says, keeping his true thoughts to himself as he picks up the hat that had fallen to the ground in Carl's despair. Rising to his feet, he dusts it off and places it back on his son's head. "Now take care of that hat for me, okay?"

"Sure, Dad." With a proud smile and pure hope in his eyes, Carl jumps into the van with Sophia.

Before climbing into the vehicle himself, Rick looks up to the heavens with a bead of woeful guilt in his gut. _I'm sorry for lying to him, Lori. Please watch over him._

* * *

Rick glances in the rearview mirror at his son, or what he can see of his son anyway, hunched in the middle row of seats next to Sophia. The large brown King's County sheriff's hat, sans gold star, hides all of his hair and most of his face.

He prays that he can keep his promise to keep Carl safe. Like he'd told Erin last night, he doesn't know if they will all make it to the coast, but he will stay alive to keep his family alive. No matter what.

He'd seen the concern on her face this morning too as they were loading the cars. She'd held her fear in check but she couldn't hide the crystallized anxiety in the green depths of her eyes. Now, riding shotgun next to him, she seems to have settled into a quiet tolerance; not exactly thrilled to be out on the road but accepting it nonetheless.

The interior of the van is as silent as every stoic tree they pass. The level of anxiety has diminished more and more with every mile marker, but there is still a slight current of apprehension swirling on the breeze blowing in through the partially opened windows.

With the passengers relaxed into their own quiet thoughts, the ride has felt almost leisurely. Just a lazy Sunday joyride, except for the brief conversation they'd had after seeing a sign for Atlanta's Center for Disease Control - and deciding that although it would be a good place to search for answers and assistance, it was situated too dangerously close to the city to be worth the effort.

Leading the caravan for twenty-four miles so far, Rick checks the side mirror to see Dale steering the camper behind him, followed by T-Dog's black Jeep, Morgan's Element and then Daryl's pickup truck sweeping the rear with Nikki riding in the narrow back seat.

He turns his attention back to the quiet two-lane road rushing up at him through the windshield of the van. Approaching a sharp bend, he presses lightly on the brake to ease through the turn where the shell of an ancient barn sits, stubbornly forcing the pavement to veer left. As he turns the steering wheel to follow the winding lane, movement at the very edge of his peripheral view pulls his focus to the parking lot of a fairly modern looking church that seems to challenge the old barn across the street. Squinting into the sun, he sees the blurry form of a walker hunched over his breakfast.

"Sophia, look at that hawk up there," Carol says from her seat next to Kelly in the third row, farthest back.

"There he is, Carl. See him up there above the barn?" Erin adds, pointing a finger toward the top of her window.

Rick gives her a quick grateful look, knowing that she is following Carol's lead in an attempt to avert the kids' attention from the walker on their left.

Carl leans forward in his seat to get a better view through the opposite window. "It looks like a buzzard," he says innocently, showing off his skills as an avid birdwatcher.

Rick smiles, knowing his mom would be very proud of her grandson after all the time she'd spent with him on nature hikes. _Please be safe_ , he thinks for the hundredth time since waking up in a world without telephone lines.

He presses harder on the gas as the road stretches forward into a long straightaway, passing a smattering of small businesses. A comfortable silence fills the car as Kelly yawns, setting off a chain reaction. Rick feels the pull in his jaw but contains it until Erin pointedly looks at him with her mouth wide open and a teasing gleam in her eyes, knowing he'll be helpless to fight it. Releasing a great big yawn, he chuckles as she gives him a victorious smirk.

As the road gives way to another sharp turn, twisting back to the right to continue travelling south toward Griffin, he swings the van around a burned out gas station and slams his foot on the brake, propelling his passengers forward in a sea of muttered curses.

"Oh my God," Rick breathes, his heart in his throat as the screech of the tires draws the attention of the walker in front of him, staggering around the upside-down crushed bumper of the Peletier's minivan as the steel of its axle collects the heat of the rising sun.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

"Shane!" Rick yells, following Daryl through the long grass and blinking rapidly to clear the moisture in his eyes. He coughs and swallows hard, again and again, but cannot dislodge the knob that has settled thick in his throat. "Amy! Shane!" he hollers, echoing the calls from T-Dog down the street as Daryl stops to inspect the ground for another trace of their friends.

The van had been surrounded by spattered drips and small pools of dark congealed blood, hardening in the sun among the broken bits of metal and glass, along with a couple of badly deteriorated walkers lying about the wreckage.

They'd followed a thin trail of blood away from the wreck, sixty yards of a zigzagged staggering path along the asphalt, until it faded to nearly nothing before turning into a vast meadow at the side of the road.

Rick almost loses his footing on the dew-drenched grass as the uneven ground spreads across a sea of ruts and rises. With a grief-stricken heart and a paralyzing fear for the man he'd considered his brother, he stumbles and then catches himself, forcing his body upright to cast his voice a great distance, hoping that his friend will hear it. "Shaaane!"

From the moment they had come upon the wreck, and the heart-wrenching sight of Jim, battered and bloody and staggering around the upturned van in a grotesquely unnatural state, Rick refused to believe that Shane had met the same fate.

Even as he had withdrawn his knife from the bearded man's temple, his eyes blurry with tears and his hands shaking in sorrow, he couldn't imagine Shane lurching around with nothing but muscle memory to move his loose limbs, reaching out for any warm-blooded being in his path. No. He had to be alive. His mind would still be sharp and his eyes would continue to wander, constantly searching for a pretty face. His hands would be itching for a buxom body to hold and his mouth pursed with desire, not snarling with an animalistic hunger to tear into the flesh of an unfortunate victim.

"Amy!" Rick yells, glancing toward a strand of trees to the right of the field. With vivid clarity, he recalls the devastating image of Jacqui - sweet soulful Jacqui - lying in a crumpled heap on the inverted ceiling inside the van. The severely broken fingers on the hand lying next to her sickly twisted neck had reminded him of gnarled branches on a dying tree. Looking across the grass to peer between the thick trunks of birch, beech and hemlocks, his eyes frantically scan the grove as his heart pounds furiously inside his chest. "Shane!"

"Shit, I lost it!"

Rick turns back toward Daryl, now studying a wider circle than the small patch of earth he had been examining a moment before. "Keep looking. There's gotta be something there," he says, refusing to give up. "They didn't just disappear."

"Unless Glenn and Morgan find somethin' in that sorry excuse for a town back there, I'm tellin' ya, Rick, they're gone."

"Well they can't have gone far, then. They're hurt. Maybe they got into a car and drove off."

"Maybe one of them did, but not both," Daryl says, shaking his head sadly. "There was only one trail of blood."

"Let's go back, search for another trail. All that blood, there's gotta be something else," Rick says, frustrated and frightened. "We just have to find it!"

Returning to the scene of the accident, Rick glances at Dale standing on the roof of the camper and then meets Erin's tearful questioning eyes through the windshield of the van. He shakes his head slowly, a sad negative answer to a question he'd never wanted to be asked. He sees his sister and Carol huddled with the kids in the seat behind her, their faces a shadowed tapestry of mourning. He holds up a hand to Erin, his palm telling her to stay put. She nods in pitiful misery as she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and he looks away quickly, before her grief can merge with his and render him useless, dragging him to drown under the weight of it.

The sun heats his back as he crouches to inspect a dried puddle of blood at the foot of a walker. An early walker from the look of its emaciated form beneath the shredded clothing – an outfit of indistinct colors that tells the story of weeks spent scratching out a monstrous existence. The dirty brown ruddiness that disguises the true hues of the garments seems to match the state of his heart and all he can see is despair. He blinks hard to clear the dangerous emotion as a buzzard's deep nasally whine resonates overhead.

"That blood didn't come from this guy," Daryl says as he kneels next to him.

"I know. More like he slipped in it and then got a knife in his ear." Rick points to the creature's head and to the trail of dark stickiness that leads from his ear to his jaw, where a family of flies buzzes about. "This was probably Jim's," he murmurs despondently. "His boot was covered in blood from that piece of metal in his leg. And it leads right to him," he adds softly, inhaling through his nose to catch the stream of snot that threatens to escape from his nostrils. "I just want to make sure we aren't missing something else."

The ugly buzzard whines again as it circles above them. Rick looks up and squints into the bright blue sky. The fleeting image of a bird in flight above a barn triggers a memory of another vision seen through squinting eyes. _The church!_ He thinks of the pretty little church about a half mile back, across from the old dilapidated barn. It had stood quietly when they drove past, solemnly watching over the walker that was enjoying an unhealthy breakfast in its parking lot. "Oh my God."

With his heart beating in triple-time, Rick races toward T-Dog's jeep as Daryl yells at his back, hot on his heels. "What the hell, man! Where ya goin'?"

Skidding into the lot of the church a minute later, Rick's foot crushes the brake pedal as he peers through the dirty windshield at the walker feasting on a dead deer. The muscles beneath a familiar black tee shirt shift its broad shoulders at the sound of their arrival and a head of thick ebony hair rises slowly from its meal, attracted to the noise of the screeching tires.

It's only a brief moment of time, one beat of a breaking heart, but it stretches out interminably as Rick recognizes the face before it turns back to its meal; the face of the man he considered his brother. "No! Nooo! Ah no!" He punches the steering wheel, again and again, expelling a tempest of grief as tears stream freely down his cheeks.

With a furious grip on the wheel, he thrashes madly in his seat, enraged at the fate that had put his friend on this perilous path, and angry at himself for not trying harder to convince the man to follow him to Savannah.

When his anguish abates and he feels empty inside, he leans his head back on the headrest and closes his eyes, his hands lying bruised and hopeless in his lap. A minute - or an hour – later, he hears the deep click of a car door and opens his eyes to see Daryl stepping out of the jeep with his crossbow. "Daryl!"

"We can't leave him like that, Rick," Daryl says gently after Rick shifts into park and gets out of the driver's side of the jeep.

"No. We won't. But I'll do it," Rick replies miserably, his heart constricting in sorrow again after rising up from the debilitating numbness. "It's gotta be me." He swallows hard as he takes his gun from its holster, his hand shaking badly.

He walks on unsteady legs across the pavement, stopping about twenty feet from the deer. From Shane. Slowly lifting the Colt Python to aim it at the profile of his best friend, a stream of memories flickers before his eyes like an old movie reel, highlighting the story of two troublemaking boys that had grown into respectable men with a bond tighter than many blood brothers.

He can still hear the words of comfort Shane had said on the day his father walked out. He can still feel the warm solid hands that steadied him after his first dance with a bottle of vodka. He can still see the laughing brown eyes that dared him to talk to a pretty girl. And he can still smell the smoke of the cigar they had shared on the day that Carl was born.

 _You bastard._ His veins burn hot again as the anger returns, clenching his jaw painfully hard. _Why did you make me do this? I hate you. I love you. I'm sorry._

The gamut of emotions roils his belly and a wave of nausea threatens to unsettle his stomach as his eyes fill in agony.

He clears the tears with the back of his wrist and then looks down the barrel of the gun. When he sees Shane's dark head centered in the sight at the end of the barrel, his eyes well up again and he can't keep the tears from spilling out once more. He lowers his chin with a sob and shakes his head to clear the moisture that blurs his vision. "Son of a _bitch_!" he groans wretchedly as Daryl appears at his side.

"Just keep it steady, man. You got this."

Rick is grateful for the support and the compassion in Daryl's tone, but in the haze of grief, he numbly registers that the hunter is still holding onto the loaded crossbow. He inhales deeply and raises the Colt once more, refusing to lose the chance, the choice, to take care of Shane himself.

When he finally pulls the trigger, the sound of the single gunshot ricochets off the church steeple, carrying with it the soul of a beloved friend as it echoes through the crumbling walls of the dilapidated barn, leaps down the cracked asphalt of the sleepy two-lane road, sweeps through the long grasses of the peaceful meadow, and soars above the solitary fluff of cloud in the endless blue sky as it shatters Rick's heart into a million tiny little pieces.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

The sky is such a beautiful bright blue that it is almost painful to look at. It hurts Erin's heart more than it hurts her eyes as she stares through the windshield of the van. It was an absolutely gorgeous morning; clear blue sky, surprisingly little humidity and the perfect touch of a breeze as they buried their friends in a peaceful yard behind the small church. But the blue sky seemed out of place, the gentle breezes felt cold rather than refreshing and the air should have held more moisture to match all the tears that were shed for the three people who were laid to rest.

This is not the setting for a funeral, Erin thinks in an oddly dazed frame of mind. This is one of those rare perfect days that was meant to be enjoyed among friends.

She could accept the fact, finally, that her friends had decided to go their own way, but she could not comprehend the truth that they were all dead. Not on a day like this. The vibrant blue sky gives it that much more of a surreal feeling.

But maybe they didn't all die here today. After searching extensively, they never did find Amy. She wants to believe in Daryl's theory that her friend had walked up the street and found a car. That she drove away from this place with a beating heart and a will to live. And if there is a merciful God, they will run into her somewhere on their way to Savannah.

Rick climbs into the driver's seat and closes the door with a heavy thud, putting the final exclamation point on a wretched morning. He looks at her with red swollen eyes and she wishes she had the energy to reach out to him with a comforting hand. But she has sunken into a miasma of numbness and can barely manage to lift the corner of her mouth in a gesture of support.

It most likely comes off as a sad little smirk because he reaches for her hand and brings it to his mouth, comforting her instead. She finally gives him the warm, if tearful, smile that he deserves and squeezes his hand tightly. The look he shines back at her is still full of sorrow, but there is a strong glimmer of hope there as well.

Without saying a word, his eyes tell her, _We are going to get through this._

 _Together, s_ he answers silently back with a short nod and tender smile.

He releases her hand to shift into drive and she turns in her seat to check on Carl. He is curled into Kelly's side with his eyes closed over his tear-stained cheeks, Rick's hat clutched to his chest. The steadiness of his breathing tells her that he has fallen asleep. Not surprising after the emotional upheaval of the last two hours.

Erin gives Kelly a friendly caress on her knee and then looks to the third bench seat to check on Carol, in a similar position with Sophia sleeping against her. Carol returns her sympathetic smile before Erin turns to face forward again as the vehicle begins to move.

The ride is quiet, other than the frequent sniffles. Though they have subsided to an occasional snuff, everyone remains lost in their own melancholy thoughts as the Georgia countryside rushes by like a silent film playing on a movie screen. For forty minutes, as the children sleep, Erin listens to the rhythmic hum of the tires on the roadway and the whisper of the wind rushing over the bumper and up the windshield, the soundtrack to the movie playing just outside her window. She wishes the monotonous tone and soothing ride would rock her to sleep as well, just to escape for a little while. But then, after passing arbitrary billboards advertising random businesses that don't exist anymore, she sees a sign for Emory University and happy memories come flooding in to briefly extinguish the sadness in her soul.

Thinking of her days in the nursing program, she can practically smell the biology lab with its distinctive aroma of iodine and old plastic, the somewhat almond-vanilla odor of the textbooks in the library, the grease of the Chick-Fil-A in Cox Hall, the flowery scent of her roommates perfume as they got ready to go to a party, and the coffee maker working overtime to help them cram for an exam that they were desperate not to fail.

God, things were so much simpler then – when she was just fighting cancer while trying to earn a degree. She smirks inwardly and then imagines a younger Rick during his police academy days. She would have had such a crush on him that she would've failed all her exams, unable to concentrate on her studies for the daydreams he would have induced. She envisions him running around with Shane as rookies… with Shane... and then the present comes crashing back like an unforgiving tidal wave with an undertow that sweeps her off her feet and knocks her breath away.

She bites her lip to keep from groaning out loud. Her grief is painfully fresh as she recalls the moment she watched Dale and Glenn lay Jacqui in the ground. Her eyes begin to burn with unshed tears and she squeezes them shut and turns her face toward the window, hiding her sorrow from Rick. When she opens them again she sees a fuzzy image of a lone walker shuffling down the center of the street.

As they get closer, Erin notices the long blonde hair hanging down the walker's back and she chokes back a sob. "Oh my God."

"Shit!" Rick steps harder on the brake to stop the car instead of steering around the figure.

"Amy?" Kelly breathes sleepily from the back seat as Erin opens her door and jumps out of the van.

"Erin!" Rick yells, his voice alarmed and angry. A moment later he is yanking on her arm and standing before her, keeping her from getting too close to the blood-spattered woman who is turning slowly in their direction.

"Amy!" Erin cries, looking at the almost unrecognizable face of her friend.

"Jesus," Rick breathes, still gripping her arm tightly as he gapes at Amy.

Half of her face is a swollen distortion of a high cheekbone set in blotches of deep violet edged in gold. The other half is covered in dark scarlet from the large gash above her left eyebrow. Her head is tilted as if her neck is too tired to support it. Her lips are parted slightly, but less so on the right side of her mouth where the upper lip balloons out to almost double its original size.

The woman in front of Erin looks like a dreadful caricature of her friend. Her heart sinks as Rick releases her arm to reach for his knife. "Amy…," she sighs miserably as her throat closes on gut-wrenching emotion. _Not again. Not Amy too!_

The glimmer of hope she'd held out for Amy vanishes in the flash of the sun reflecting off steel as Rick raises his knife. The pounding in her ears drowns out the sound of car doors opening and closing behind them.

The woman returns Erin's gaze with light turquoise eyes that shine with hazy recognition. The sadness and confusion swimming in their depths is unsettling. She expected to see less humanity and more guttural instinct in the eyes of a walker. Less… life. _Life!_ "Oh, God." Her heart leaps and skids to a halt in the same breath. _"Rick!"_

But he'd seen it too, thank God - that tiny spark of life in Amy's eyes, just bright enough to keep her this side of heaven. "Amy!" he gasps and Erin can hear the panic in his voice, realizing just how close he had come - not to putting down a walker, but to actually killing the young woman.

She is looking at Rick but doesn't seem to see him standing before her. "Amy?" Erin says gently as she takes a cautious step forward and slowly reaches out to her friend. "It's going to be okay now," she tells her softly as Dale and Michonne join Kelly and Carol to form a small gathering behind her and Rick. "We're here now, Amy."

Amy lifts her head at the sound of Erin's voice but continues to look at Rick, her eyes more focused but still somewhat detached. The pale gray skin of her forehead is covered with a sheen of sweat above the gash encrusted with dried blood. Her sleepy eyelids open and close over dilated pupils as she breathes quick shallow breaths. "She's in shock," Erin says, recognizing the classic symptoms from her years working at a busy hospital.

"Let's get you to the camper so you can lie down, sweetheart," Rick says in a tender tone, soothing enough to coax a rabbit out of its burrow.

"I saw a deer," Amy says, her voice a raspy mumble of words forced through a dehydrated throat.

"What, honey?" Rick asks, just before throwing his arms out to catch Amy from hitting the ground in a dead faint.

* * *

As fields and forests rush past in a blur outside his window, Rick glances to his right as his sister stirs in the front passenger seat, mumbling some random statement in her sleep, just like when they were kids. He gives her an affectionate smile and glances in the rearview mirror to check on his son.

Strapped into the middle row next to Sophia, his head is slumped in slumber with the large sheriff's hat covering most of his face. Alternating glances between the road ahead and his passengers behind, the mirror shows him that Sophia and her mom are also asleep while Michonne, sitting next to Carol in the third row, blinks slowly in an effort to keep her eyes open.

He doesn't know if it's the illness putting her to sleep now or the soothing sway and rumble of the car ride, but she did seem to be quite a bit better today. He was surprised, and extremely impressed, when she'd emerged from the camper to keep watch for them during the funeral process.

She had climbed to the top of the camper, slow but sure-footed to take over for Dale. And though she was still pretty weak, her stance was that of a person who knew how to take care of herself. Besides the fact that she seemed comfortable and capable with the katana, he could see something in her eyes, beneath the sheen of her ailment. She was going to be an asset to their group. He was glad he had found her.

She'd impressed him even more when she'd insisted that Amy take the bed in the camper when they'd continued on their journey. She'd said she was feeling well enough and even took a stab at humor saying that Dale's bed was too comfortable for her liking after sleeping on the ground for weeks.

Glancing in the side-view mirror to see the camper following behind him, he wonders for the hundredth time if Erin is having trouble keeping Amy awake.

They'd agreed that it would be wise to keep her up in case she had a concussion. But a concussion was the least of his worries.

Though he'd checked Amy for bite marks before carrying her into the camper, he still wasn't completely comfortable leaving her alone with Erin. What if he'd missed something? An inconspicuous scratch. A small bite hidden beneath a shadow of her clothing.

Erin had assured him that her wounds were not fatal, but what if she missed something herself? What if Amy died in the back of that camper… and turned?

He'd never actually seen someone transform from dead to undead - until Jacqui.

And it had scared the shit out of him.

One moment she'd been lying quiet in death and utterly still, and then suddenly she was moving again like she'd changed her mind about leaving this world.

He'd nearly thrown the shovel as he'd jumped back from her half-dug grave. Thank God Daryl had reacted quick enough to put her down. And thank Erin's baby Jesus that she and Kelly and Carol had taken the kids to pick some flowers to put on the graves. They did not need to remember their friend that way.

And they did not need to worry about already being infected themselves.

When he and the other men had resumed their digging, Morgan made a point to check Jacqui's body for bite wounds. Lost in his own heartbreaking thoughts, Rick hadn't paid much attention to his friend until the man had stood up and announced that Jacqui hadn't been bit.

" _You must have missed it," he told Morgan. "Why would she turn if she wasn't bitten or scratched?"_

" _The only wounds she has are from the accident, Rick. And we know she wasn't attacked after we pulled her from the car."_

" _That doesn't make sense," Glenn said, his shovel suspended with a small mound of dirt on its blade._

" _You're saying that she got the virus without even being attacked by a walker?" Rick said, disbelief etched along his raised eyebrows. "Like it was already inside her, Morgan?"_

" _How did she get the virus inside her?" T-Dog asked, stepping out of a deep grave and clearly alarmed._

" _It's inside all of us, isn't it?" Dale added, eyes wide and worried below his own thick brows. "Waiting for us to die just to restart our motor skills again?"_

 _Rick turned toward the small field at the side of the church to make sure his family was okay, and out of earshot. Seeing Erin and Carol carrying handfuls of pretty colors as Kelly and the kids crouched to pull more flowers from the ground, he took a steadying breath and returned his focus to Morgan, but adjusted his position to keep one eye on their field._

" _Whatever this thing is," Morgan began, "We know it isn't airborne, jumping from one person to another. It can only be transferred by bites or deep scratches. But the way it spread so incredibly fast across the world, you'd have to believe that the air itself or the water supply had to be contaminated."_

" _Which means we all carry the virus." Merle said dispassionately, his voice a dull pragmatic slap on the wind as he joined them from his nap in the truck. "Wonderful. There's a chance I may get to die this week after all," he added dryly._

 _Turning to address the group at large, Rick said in a hushed tone, "Don't say anything about this to the girls. We don't know for sure and we don't need to scare them any worse than they already are."_

Now he just prays that Erin won't need to use the gun that he had insisted she carry. Maybe he should have told her the truth – or the truth of what they suspect anyway. But he really did find it hard to believe that they all carried the virus. Regardless, he was not going to leave her defenseless. He was adamant that she take the gun just in case. She didn't need to know every reason for his concern.

And he really didn't think that Amy was going to start burning up with fever. If he had, he would never have left Erin in the camper – no matter how much his Scottish lover would have argued.

When Amy had woken up as he was laying her on the bed, she seemed fairly alert when she'd assured him that she had not been bitten. But she had been listless and loopy for who knows how long before they'd found her and he didn't believe she could know for sure. If he hadn't checked her thoroughly himself, and found nothing but a medley of scrapes and bruises on her upper body from the crash, he'd never have let Erin near the young woman.

But he'd stood quietly in the doorway, listening intently while Erin did her job, treating her patient with a slew of antiseptic wipes, a couple of ice packs and a butterfly bandage while Amy slowly, numbly told them what had happened.

The deer had come out of nowhere, clipping the front fender and forcing the van to flip over. When she said that Shane had gotten bit when he was pulling her out of the wreck, saving her life, Rick had to fight to keep the tears from forming again as he'd envisioned the scene - and recalling the moment he'd discovered his best friend hunched over the deer.

Now, glancing once again at the reflection of the camper in the side-view mirror, the fact that Erin has the gun is only a small comfort, knowing exactly how difficult it is to actually use it on someone you cared about.

Shane's dark eyes haunt him as the barren landscape changes to a smattering of farms followed by a spread of neighborhoods which lead into a conglomerate of local businesses, creating another small town in central Georgia. A town that Shane would never see.

A fusion of sadness and futility settles in his bones with a melancholy that he hadn't felt since the day his father left him.

As he draws closer to the town, frustration rises again as he moves his foot from the gas to the brake. After hours spent maneuvering around jammed intersections, almost losing the camper in a league of mud, and then being forced to backtrack eighteen miles north to head west due to an infestation of walkers blocking a narrow bridge, he sees another traffic snarl up ahead and his heart sinks just a little bit more.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

By the time they reach Lincoln Park, a tiny town that sits on the southern border of Thomaston, the sun is sitting low in the sky as it prepares to bid them farewell.

Crisscrossing the small grid, Rick circles back twice before he is satisfied that it is safe enough to explore further, and hopefully hunker down for the night. The area proves to be pretty much intact, as if everyone had fled the town as opposed to storming through it like so many other places he'd seen. With no spark of life – or death - in the sleepy little town, he pulls the van into the parking lot of a small abandoned motel.

The size of the one-story structure seems tiny, in contrast to the large lot sitting in front of it where long shadows stretch across the blacktop. Neatly arranged parking spaces are outlined in white paint just footsteps from the eighteen numbered doors. Rick parks sidelong in the center of the lot and looks at Kelly riding shotgun. "Stay here," he says as the other vehicles line up next to him.

After jumping in the camper to check on Erin and Amy, Rick leads the men to the manager's lobby , sitting on the left side of the L-shaped building under an A-framed roof. The sun streams into a large bay window to reveal a tall reception desk with a map of Upson County Georgia on the wall behind it.

He raps on the glass with three attention-getting knocks and then holds his hands to the pane, framing his eyes from the sun as he peers into the room. Two chairs sit empty in front of a lonely table in one corner of the room, within reaching distance of a brochure rack which informs the guests of the many sights to see in the area. Another small table lines the opposite wall with a plastic bin of bagels and muffins sitting next to a coffee maker. His mouth waters like one of Pavlov's dogs and he realizes he hasn't eaten anything all day. "It's clear," he says as Daryl shakes one of the two vending machines sitting shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk in front of the office, offering an assortment of chips, candy, water and Pepsi products. "Come on, we'll come back for that after."

After collecting the master key and determining that every room is blessedly empty, Rick leaves Daryl with the vending machines and a crowbar and returns to the crowd gathered in front of the Winnebago. He meets Erin's tired eyes and then looks down at his son, leaning against her as she rubs her fingers through his hair with soothing affection.

 _Please let me keep them safe._

He gives them each a tight reassuring smile and turns his gaze to address the group. "Alright, we'll take the rooms at this end here," he says, swinging his arm to his right. "We don't all have to cram in together, but let's stay close. This town is empty right now but I want one team on watch at all times anyway." He glances toward the few cars parked along the quiet street near the sports bar on the corner. The wheels in his brain turn slowly, weary but working as they begin to form a plan.

If today's journey is any indication of what lies ahead, it's going to take them a long time to get to Savannah. With all these detours, they'll need a lot more gas. He looks at Glenn and T-Dog. "We've got a little bit of daylight left. Let's run through a couple of places right here to see what supplies we can scrounge. If it goes as well as I think it will, maybe we'll stay here for a couple of days, get our bearings and collect enough gas and food to get us to the coast."

As everyone moves to grab their gear from the cars, he walks straight to Erin and Carl. With one hand on his son's shoulder, he places the other on the back of her neck and leans in close. "Make sure you take a room next to Kelly and Carl." She nods in understanding and he gives her a quick kiss before stepping back. He looks down at his son between them. A sadness still lingers in the serious expression on his young face, but there's an excitement in his eyes as well; a spark of adventure in their depths that was lost inside the terrified boy of this morning.

Finding Amy had helped a great deal. Carl was devastated at Shane's death, but finding her helped to soothe that hurt. It had helped them all, giving them a little bit of hope in a desperately hopeless situation.

He crouches to his son's eye level. "Take care of the girls for me, okay? I'll be back in a little bit."

"Sure, Dad." The confident look on his little boy's face gives Rick another tiny boost of hope.

With a final look at Erin, he walks away amid a flurry of activity as the refugees scurry to settle in for the night.

Twenty five minutes later, the tip of the sun is just a small amber bubble on the treetops, smudging the dark gray sky with vast streaks of orange and yellow.

Rick adjusts the heavy trash bag in his grip as he follows Daryl back across the street to the dusky lot. As he had hoped, they'd found a good supply of food - along with a decent amount of booze – and the hunter's bag is as full as his. Nearing the camper, he can see Glenn and T-Dog already back and talking with Dale, two stuffed bags sitting at their feet as well.

"Wow, you guys really made out alright," Dale says as he reaches for the bag at Glenn's feet and hoists it into the RV.

"Yeah, we're definitely gonna stay here for a couple of days," Rick says wearily when the older man steps out again. He hands him his stash and then looks beyond Dale's shoulder toward the block of rooms with pale light spilling out of the opened doors and spread curtains.

"Erin took eighteen on the end for you, Rick," Dale says, obviously picking up on his intended target. Before he can ask, Dale adds, "And Carl is with Kelly and Amy next door. Carol and Sophia have Michonne with them in number sixteen," he continues as he points to the only closed door. "Morgan and Duane are in number fifteen and we saved number fourteen for Glenn and T-Dog." Rick watches him nod at the two men before making eye contact with Daryl. "Merle took twelve for you guys – something about not wanting to sleep behind an unlucky number - and I'm just gonna stay in the RV."

As if on cue, Merle emerges from room number twelve and makes a beeline for his brother - or for the bottle of alcohol in his brother's hand anyway. Daryl relinquishes the magnum of vodka and turns to Rick. "Me and Merle will take the first shift."

Rick looks at Merle and then glances down at the thick bandage where his right hand used to be. "You up for it?" he asks, knowing that the man is still in a lot of pain.

"Don't worry 'bout me, sheriff. I'm fine now that I've been reunited with an old friend." Merle lifts the bottle in a pseudo salute.

"I got this, Rick." Daryl says softly, meeting his eyes with assurance. "We'll be okay out here."

Rick nods his head with an exhausted look of resignation. "Cheers," he says bleakly before walking away, heading to room number eighteen with an old friend of his own gripped tightly in his fist.

* * *

After watching Rick walk off with Daryl, Erin had sent up a prayer to keep them safe and then carried their duffel bags into the last room of the row, right next to Carl and Kelly.

She'd opened the thick russet drapes and the fading sunlight glowed upon a set of rich deep blue queen-sized bedspreads surrounded by warm gold walls. A thin layer of dust shone upon the dark walnut dresser that matched the small round table by the window.

All she'd wanted to do was take a shower to wash away the morning's misery, but the beds had looked so damned inviting that she couldn't stop herself from lying across the foot of the closest one to relax for a moment before jumping into a cold shower. The plush pillow-topped mattress felt heavenly after sleeping on the air mattress for a month. She let her eyes fall closed for just a moment… just one moment. But lying on her side with her head resting on her arm, her eyes were as heavy as her heart and one moment melted into many…

When she opens her eyes now, the curtains are drawn closed and the soft light from a lantern shines upon the handsome man sitting in the chair watching her with hooded eyes and a bottle of scotch in his hand; a nearly empty bottle of scotch.

"Hey." She pushes herself up to sit cross-legged on the bed. "Why didn't you wake me?" she asks around a yawn as she wipes her eyes and stretches her back.

"'Cause you looked so lovely lyin' there," he slurs slightly.

"I see you found the bar across the street," she says with a light smile, hoping the pity she feels for him isn't evident in her eyes.

He gives her a weak smile in return. "Best thing I've found all day." He emphasizes the statement with a strong swig from the bottle.

"Should I be worried about you?" she asks in mock concern. "You're not going to revert to your wild teenage days are you?"

"Not a chance. Not with you here to keep me on the straight and narrow. Besides, we only have one bottle. It'd take much more than that to get me hooked again," he says as he stands from the chair, and then sways heavily on his feet.

"I don't know, officer,"she says, jumping from the bed to steady him. "It seems to be going to your head pretty quickly." Taking the bottle from his hand, she sets it on the dresser next to the lantern and holds onto his hips as he begins to nuzzle her neck.

"Well it has been a long time since I had a drink. But I don't think it's the alcohol that's makin' me all warm and tingly." His breath is hot against her skin. "God, baby, do you have any idea what you do to me?"

"Yeah," she replies as he squeezes her rear ardently. "The same thing you do to me."

"Really?" he mumbles into her shoulder. "You have a dick that gets hard jus' thinkin' about me?"

"Umm, not exactly." She laughs, and then moans when his teeth clamp sharply on a small patch of skin at the base of her neck. "My parts get soft and soggy when I think about you and your hard parts."

He pulls her roughly against his arousal. "Mmmm… I love makin' your parts all soggy. You make me feel so good, Red. I just wanna feel good for a little while."

He takes her hand from his hip and places it on the zipper of his pants, closing his fingers over hers until she is grasping his length through the brown polyester of his uniform. "I know, baby." She parts her lips when he covers her mouth, and enjoys a sweet smoky taste as she strokes him through his trousers.

He pulls back suddenly and shoves his hands beneath her shirt to unhook the clasp of her bra, which proves to be an uphill battle for his inebriated fingers. "Hey, did ya know this place is madshical?," he says excitedly.

"Really?" She smiles, thoroughly enjoying his giddiness, however erroneous and brief it will be until he comes crashing down in remorseful sobriety. But after being so downhearted all day, she won't begrudge him this temporary escape. She doesn't have the heart to deny him that. And he is just so freaking cute. "What makes it so magical, honey?"

"It has hot water!" he says with a measure of awe as if revealing an incredible secret. "Let's go take a shower." He pulls back and begins to ineffectually finger the buttons of his shirt.

"Wow, the pilot must still be lit," she says, agreeing that it is pretty amazing.

"Yeah. Thank you baby Jesus!"

She grins at his use of her favorite expression. "Amen!" She moves her hands to his chest and slips her fingers beneath his to help with his buttons. When his lips crash into hers again, the world quickly disappears - along with their grief, and their clothes.

Leading him towards the shower, she undresses them both along the way. "Come on grimy Grimes, let's get you cleaned up."

He follows her into the stall and she feels him pressing against her rump when she bends over to turn the tap. Holding her hand under the cold water that pours into the tub, she's afraid that in his current state of intoxication he had just imagined the heat of the water. But a few moments later the water begins to warm against her fingers. She lifts the knob for the shower option and moans heartily when the marvelously hot spray hits her bare chest.

He presses his erection harder against her. "Oh yeah, you like that, baby?" he murmurs, mistakenly taking credit for her current pleasure.

"Oh yeah," she replies, referring to the water temperature but continuing to indulge him… and his pickled pride.

She turns to face him, slipping her arms around his neck as the water massages her back. He's so cute and carefree at the moment, his eyes brightened with liquor but shining with life. "You're feeling pretty good yourself, aren't you?"

"Yeah. You make me feel good," he responds as he lowers his forehead to hers and slips his hands around her waist. "I'm so glad you found me."

"Technically, you found me," she says, thinking of the day he'd walked into the camp.

"No, you found me first and then I found you back," he says. "I found you at the quarry _after_ you woke me up." He lifts his head with a worried look. "Did I ever thank you for waking me up? Thank you for waking me up, Erin. That was a good day for me. A really good day for me." He nods enthusiastically, looking into her eyes with complete sincerity in his drunken gaze.

She chuckles at his rambling. "Yes, you did thank me. And you're welcome, honey." She presses her lips to his for a soft sweet kiss and he quickly takes it up a notch, thrusting his tongue into her mouth with a slightly sloppy voracity.

She holds onto his shoulders as he gropes her body with audacious hands. They stray and stroke, bold and brazen and tactless but determined. She turns within his arms, letting the warm water sluice down her face as he presses his chest against her back.

When she wiggles her ass against his erection, he squeezes her hip and pinches her nipple a little too hard. "Easy sheriff." She takes his hand and presses a soft kiss to his palm.

"I just love you so much, baby. I love you with all the madness in my soul."

She smiles, knowing that he doesn't even realize that he is quoting her favorite song. Maybe it's a residual memory from the first dream they'd ever had; running along the river with a stranger who didn't seem so strange.

She pulls his index finger between her lips, swirls her tongue around the rough pad and then guides it down to the juncture of her thighs. He groans and presses his arousal against the crease of her backside. She keeps her hand over his as he fits a finger inside of her. "Easy now, baby," she says softly, directing him with her voice as much as her hand. He manages to keep his movements slow and sure for a few blissful moments, but before long he is breathing heavily against her neck and slipping a second finger inside, swift and steadfast.

"I love your parts so much," he says in the hollow just below her ear as her flutter quickens with a whimper. "They fit so perfect with mine."

"Mmm yeah," she breathes, getting lost in the rhythm of his hand moving steadily beneath hers.

"I just want to get lost inside you." He withdraws as abruptly as he'd begun and turns her so that her back is to the wall. He bends slightly before her and grips the backs of her thighs, spreading them wide as he lifts her up against the tiles.

She grabs onto his shoulders and gasps on a groan as he thrusts deeply inside of her, burying himself in one mighty drive.

"You feel so fuckin'good. You're all I need. Please, baby. Just take me away."

He fills her womb and lights her soul as instinct takes over and his body moves in a rhythm that was created solely for her. His thrusts are sure and steady as their bodies unite again and again, hard meeting soft and fusing with fervor.

She holds onto him fiercely, clutching his hair tightly with one hand while the other claws his shoulder. Climbing an active volcano and nearing the top, her flutter suddenly falls away without warning as he grinds his hips to a halt after one forceful lunge, holding himself deep as he erupts explosively inside of her.

His shoulders roll with a violent shudder and he captures her mouth in a breathtaking kiss as the water beats down upon them. She pours her heart and soul into that kiss, loving him without judgment as her flutter lies in a small puddle of sympathy, drawing from a well of forgiveness as it rests unfulfilled, but accepting.

He buries his face in her neck and she feels him shudder once more with a heart-wrenching sob. He trembles in her arms and she knows that it is more than bath water streaming down her collarbone. It is the guilt and anguish of losing a treasured friend that is crashing down on him.

It is crushing but cathartic and she weeps for them both. Lifting his face, she kisses the corner of his mouth. "What happened this morning is not your fault, honey."

"I should've stopped him," he says, more to himself than to her as he shakes his head miserably.

She cradles his jaws to force his gaze on her. "Listen to me, Rick. You are not responsible for the decisions of everyone else."

"I couldn't stop him," he cries, the dullness of grief clouding the shimmer of liquor in his eyes.

"No, you couldn't. But you did try and that's all that anyone can do. You're a good man, honey. Don't you ever doubt that."

"Don't ever leave me, Erin," he begs, pulling at her heart with the misery in his tone.

She wipes the sorrow from beneath his eyes and then hugs him tightly when he lowers his head to her shoulder once more. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I can't lose you." He inhales deeply and releases a distilled breath of liquid hope as his fingers dig into her thighs. "I can't lose you."

"I'm right here, Rick. I'm right here." _Always._


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N What a finale! Our sheriff looked so good last night and the memory will help to get me thru the next six months, but it's gonna be a looong six months! Good thing we can still hang out with him here in the meantime...**

 **Please let me know what you think! Enjoy :)**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-three

The soothing sound of running water caresses her ears. Her eyes flutter open and closed just enough to take in the slim band of soft gray light seeping around the edge of the window curtains. Erin sinks deeper into the super-soft but firmly fluffy pillow beneath her head and brings her knees up, gliding her thigh over the incredibly comfortable mattress against her hip.

A soft groan drifts out of the slightly opened bathroom door and she opens her eyes once again. Turning her head on the pillow, she sees the warm light of the lantern spilling out from the steamy doorway as the rush of the water muffles another painful moan, triggering the memory of last night's pity party.

He must be in bad shape if he isn't singing Johnny Cash's 'Cool Water' like he'd always done down at the quarry lake at bath time. He's got to really be feeling the effects of his little swig-fest. _Poor baby._

With the first rays of the sun reaching up and grabbing onto the horizon with just the tips of its fluorescent fingers, the few inches of pre-dawn light creeping around the curtains is not enough to illuminate the bedroom to any degree. Forcing her body to climb out of the bed, she pushes the bathroom door further ajar to steal some of Rick's light.

Returning to her duffel for a clean outfit, she notices a bottle of aspirin on the dresser next to an unopened can of iced tea. She slips into an olive green sleeveless top and a pair of black panties and grabs the little white bottle with the childproof cap.

The bathroom is hot and heavy with regret as she crosses the threshold taking two tablets from the pill bottle. Drawing the shower curtain back a few inches, she peers into the stall and can't help but admire the vision before her, as well as pity it. Rick's strong back glistens with water that rolls over his broad shoulders, off his nicely sculpted buttocks and down his muscular legs. With his arms braced against the wall below the showerhead, his dark hair is flattened to his scalp and hanging over his eyes as the water splashes against his head, hung in pain and repentance.

Smiling sympathetically at his back, she reaches in to get his attention with a light touch on his hip. "Do you need some aspirin, honey?"

"Couldn't get the fucking thing open," he mumbles beneath the rush of water as he turns his chin slightly in her direction. "I gave up."

"Aww, baby." She pouts in commiserating humor. "Here you go." She reaches her arm further into the stall to meet his hand as he turns toward her.

"Oh, thank God," he murmurs, taking the pills.

Shaking the water from her arm, she watches him pop the tablets into his mouth and swallow them down with a mouthful of water from the shower head.

"Thanks," he says. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Take your time." She gives his body one last appreciative glance before closing the curtain again.

"Hey, Red,"he calls out as she steps over the threshold into the bedroom. "Were we in here last night?"

She turns back at his question. "Yeah. Don't you remember?" she asks in a tone of light teasing, not surprised at all that he doesn't recall their evening. "You ravished me against the wall in there."

"I did? Well I sorta remember something, but I thought maybe it was one of our dreams."

"No. Not this time. And I have to say, you were pretty incredible."

"Really?" he blurts, sticking his head out from the side of the curtain with a curious expression that holds a thread of pride.

She smiles at his adorable face. "Mmmhmm…, did things to me that I'd never experienced before," she teases in a sensual tone. "It was amazing."

He squints at her with a tilt of his head, regarding her thoughtfully for a moment before straightening again. "Bullshit. I would remember that. I probably couldn't even get it up, much less in."

She crosses the tiles of the small bathroom in two strides and leans up to press a light kiss to his lips. "You did," she says softly. "And it was good."

"Good?" he echoes, sounding unsure but hopeful.

"Not your best performance, but yes, it was very good." She gazes up at him warmly, her heart wide open and his for the taking. "With you, honey," she says tenderly with a finger on the cleft splitting his chin beneath thickening stubble. "It's always good."

He gives her a boyish smile full of smug satisfaction and then slips back behind the curtain with a cheerful hum - which quickly transforms into a deep, painful residual groan.

Grinning at his unfortunate, but well-earned hangover, she walks out to retrieve her toothbrush, grateful that he doesn't remember the end of their tryst when she'd held him tightly as he'd cried in her arms.

* * *

When Rick steps out of the shower five minutes later, he dries himself off halfheartedly and ties the towel around his waist with sluggish hands. The annoyingly aggressive jackhammer slamming against his brain didn't get completely scared away by the aspirin, but it did scurry to the back of his skull to beat in a dull rhythmic thump, which is at least somewhat tolerable.

Walking into the bedroom, he finds Erin lying across the bed on her belly, her curly hair high on her head and erupting in a messy ponytail as she shines a flashlight on the map spread out before her. Her bare arms are supporting her weight on her elbows and the hem of her shirt stops a few delicious inches above her panties, giving him a small taste of her lower back where it curves to form her posterior cheeks. Her long legs, beautifully bare and bent at the knee, are crossed at the ankles as her feet dance slowly above her perfect ass. She looks like a young college coed, lost in a textbook and sexy as hell.

Jesus, how could he not remember being with that body last night? Though he does recall morsels of memories - scraps of images that flash hazily in his mind; her hand leading his to touch her just where he wants her the most… his feet slipping slightly on the wet surface of the tub as he lifts her up to straddle his hips… her teeth sinking into his shoulder as he crushes her body against the tiled wall – though he does remember bits, most of the night is an eighty-proof blur.

 _Shit, I could have hurt her. What the hell was I thinking!_ He berates himself as he sets the lantern on the dresser and lays down on the bed beside her, stretching out on his side after pressing a kiss to the enticing slip of skin at her lower back.

"Hey. Did the aspirin kick in yet?" she asks with a look of sincere concern that warms his chest.

"Yeah, it's kicking."

"Good. Drink some of that iced tea too. The caffeine will help and I don't know if Dale will be making coffee this morning."

"Okay," he replies, but makes no move toward the can on the dresser. "You find anything interesting on that map?"

"Yes actually. Manchester," she says with a finger tapping on a section of the thin paper. "They have a big cancer treatment and research center. I'd gone there a couple of times with a friend from the oncology department. I'll bet we could load up on medical supplies there."

He follows her finger and nods in agreement. Recognizing the area, he scans down the page until he sees "Woodland" in thin block capitals. A moment later, as if reading his mind - which he wouldn't put past her and the connection they share - she says "Hey, there's Woodland."

He kisses her shoulder and flips onto his back. He studies her face as she studies the map and waits for her to grab the caboose on his train of thought. He can see her mind working as she bites her bottom lip.

"Isn't that where your cabin is?"

 _That's my girl_. He smiles up at her. "It is."

"That's not that far from Manchester. Do you think we can make time to go there?"

 _Oh, without a doubt._ "Yes."

She gives him a smile that stills the jackhammer more effectively than the aspirin. But he still feels like a total dick. He reaches up to brush a loose curl behind her ear and sees a small yellow blotch bruising the base of her neck. _Oh God._ And now he feels even worse. "Listen, Erin, I'm so sorry about last night. If I did anything to hurt you, I'll never forgive my-,"

"Stop. Don't you dare finish that sentence." She lays a warm hand against his jaw and looks at him with such tenderness in her eyes that his chest hurts as he swallows his guilty conscience. "You didn't do anything but make love to me, Rick. And I'll not have you apologize for that. Not ever."

Looking into her eyes he knows she is leaving something out, but he believes her when she says that he didn't actually hurt her. _Thank God._ Just the same, he swears to himself that the next drink he takes will be the one celebrating the return of civilization as they knew it. Or when hell freezes over. Whichever comes first. Either one is a safe bet to keep him on the wagon for the rest of his days. "Come here." He pulls her down to lie against his chest and squeezes her tightly. "You can't imagine how much I love you."

"Yeah, actually I kinda can. It's just short of how much I love you."

"Impossible," he breathes against her lips as she dips her head to his for a soft sweet kiss. A knock on the door prevents him from deepening it. "Hang on," he calls out to the visitor as Erin presses her lips to his chest and pushes off of him. He rises beside her and drops the towel from his waist, earning a yearning look from Erin as she slips into a pair of yoga pants.

After dressing in jeans and a brown tee shirt, Rick opens the door to see T-Dog yawning, the sky a rusty steel scape behind him as the sun pales the night with shades of burnt orange. "Hey T," he greets the stocky man. "I assume it's been quiet out here?" he asks, successfully fighting the urge to echo the yawn.

"Yeah. Morgan and Michonne are taking watch now while me and Glenn get some sleep," T-Dog informs him. "Figure we'll do some more scavenging in a couple of hours."

"Sounds good. You two head down to Ellaville. Me and Daryl will go to Talbotton and we'll all work our way back in to finish up here in Lincoln before dark."

"Okay. How many days you think we'll be here?"

"Just a couple. Tomorrow I'm gonna take Erin to a medical center in Manchester, stock up the first aid kit. There's another town not too far from here that I want you guys to check out."

"Alright. Which one?"

"Woodbury."

"Will do, boss." T-Dog heads off to a bed and Rick closes the door, returning to his lover with a smile as he thinks about a trip to an old familiar cabin with a pretty willow tree.

Things are definitely starting to look up.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-four

Dressed in her softest pair of thoroughly faded blue jeans and a black tank top, Erin steps out of room number eighteen and into a chorus of car doors opening and closing amid the deep voices of several men; the sound of productivity. In a pleasant contrast, the chirp of youthful voices hums cheerfully at her back; the long lost sound of childhood innocence.

As the teams of adults discuss who will be going to which town for their particular scavenging missions, she can hear the three youngsters through the opened door of Kelly's room as they decide who is going to be the dog, the car or the thimble – the only pieces left in the Monopoly game they had found on a shelf in the motel lobby.

The sun shines down from the Eastern skies as she carries two bottles of water over to Amy, seated on a lawn chair in front of room number seventeen. She hands one bottle to her friend who responds with a soft _Thanks_. "How's your head today?" Erin asks her quiet friend, concerned with the headache Amy had suffered through yesterday while she and Carol had foraged the motel's commodities as the men were scavenging the town.

"Better now."

"That's good. But I still want you to take it easy today. No handstands or half-marathons," Erin teases, referring to their shared passion for running and their chronic joke of doing apocalyptic sprints.

The goodhearted smirk that accompanies Amy's eye-roll is a welcome change to the remote stare Erin had seen too many times since they'd found her friend walking in a shock-stricken stupor two days ago. Being around the kids yesterday had done a world of good in bringing her back to the land of the living. She definitely seems to have a little more spark in her today. Thank God. Because as much as their rescue and reunion has helped Amy, her singular presence has gone a long way in lifting each and every one of the group. At their darkest hour, she had come along to give them hope. Whether she knows it or not, she is there to remind them of that; that no matter how cold the night - the sun will eventually come back to warm you.

Erin hears the voice of her own special sun as Rick talks to Daryl about today's trip with Morgan and Michonne – who insisted she could not sit on top of the camper staring out at the parking lot of the motel for another day. Erin turns toward Rick's voice. After yesterday's hangover he looks good, really good, standing tall and determined in a ruggedly sharp plaid button-up of black and yellow lines crisscrossing over a sea of dark red. His blue jeans cling nicely to his muscular thighs and sag just a bit in the seat from the weight of his gun belt.

Erin watches Glenn take shotgun in T-Dog's jeep as a head full of dreadlocks climbs into the pickup truck. Finishing his conversation with Daryl, Rick glances her way and she knows he is itching to get on the road himself. _I hear ya, babe._ After spending a full day in the car and then an entire day in the motel, she can't wait to get away.

Though their quarry camp wasn't spacious by any means, it still carried a freedom and freshness that was mourned the moment they hit their first roadblock. They may have been confined to the small patch of land on that ridge, but it felt much different than being stuck in the midst of mortar and blacktop, no matter how sleepy the town.

When she settles into the passenger seat of the Honda five minutes later, the excitement of actually seeing the cabin and its beautiful lakeside weeping willow feels like finding a pony under the Christmas tree. And having Rick all to herself for the day is the frosting on the holiday gingerbread house. A thin stripe of anxiety about the trip to Manchester shades her enthusiasm a bit, but the eagerness of her little flutter surpasses any uneasy feelings and she gives him a bright smile as he fits the key into the ignition.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Oh yeah."

"Good." He reaches over the console and she watches him press the power button for the radio. "I thought you might need another friend on this mission so I brought your buddy Bruce along for the ride." A steady drumbeat and then the lively chords of Springsteen's guitar fill the air as the first notes of 'Rendezvous' leap from the stereo speakers.

"Oh my God!" She squeals with delight as she gives him a brilliant smile. When he begins to sing the lyrics, her smile immediately transforms into a wide gaping grin of astonishment.

" _I had a dream our love would last forever."_ His beautifully smooth tenor voice fills the car right alongside of Springsteen's.

Completely taken aback, but incredibly delighted, she turns the radio volume down slightly to hear more of Rick's voice over Bruce's.

" _I had a dream tonight my dream comes true,_

 _and if you'll hold me tight_

 _we'll be riders, girl, on the night._

 _Ooh, I want a rendezvous."_

"Wow," she breathes, amazed that he knows the lyrics to the song. She sings along softly, mouthing the words back to him in a whisper so she can hear Rick's voice clearly.

" _Haven't I told you, girl, how much I like you._

 _I got a feeling that you like me too._

 _Well if you hold me tight,_

 _we'll be riders, girl, on the night._

 _Ooh, I want a rendezvous."_

He gives her a proud wink and puts the car into drive as the final verse carries them out of Lincoln Park.

"I can't believe you know this song," she says. "Where did you get it? I didn't think you cared for his music."

"Well he's no Johnny Cash but he's okay," Rick replies as Bruce begs his lover again and again with the last licks of the guitar. "I found it yesterday in an old Chevy and played a few songs over and over to learn them for you. Drove Daryl crazy." He laughs and Erin can imagine the reticent hunter scowling at Rick as the music repeated. "Thank God they were fairly easy songs to learn," Rick continues. "He was ready to throw it out the window by the fourth round. Good thing he likes you so much," he finishes, glancing at her as he puts his hand on her knee.

"Yeah, he's a fan of 'The Boss' too so that was probably the main reason he didn't toss it," she says as a few quick thumps of Max Weinberg's drum brings the song to an end.

After a couple of seconds of radio silence, another song begins and she recognizes the evocatively rich keyboard of another one of her favorite songs. She smiles brightly when Rick begins to sing once more.

" _Dream baby dream,_

 _dream baby dream,_

 _come on and dream baby dream._

" _We gotta keep the light burning,_

 _come on, we gotta keep the light burning,_

 _come on, we gotta keep the light burning,_

 _come on and dream baby dream._

" _Come open up your heart,_

 _come on and open up your heart,_

 _come on and open up your heart,_

 _come on dream on, dream baby dream."_

Relishing in the thoughtfulness of the moment, she hums softly along as she opens the glovebox to search for the CD case. Pulling out the slim plastic square, she finds a homemade set of songs from somebody's iTunes collection. Scanning down the list, a few titles catch her eye and she wonders if Rick had noticed the recurring theme in the song selection.

When the song ends, she forwards to number six and turns in her seat to give him a sweet auspicious smile as she waits for Bruce's voice to come back to them. As the rhythmic hope of the old butterscotch Fender telecaster echoes off the dashboard, Erin puts her arm along Rick's shoulder to stroke his nape during her serenade.

" _Grab your ticket and your suitcase_

 _thunder's rollin' down this track,_

 _well, you don't know where you're goin' now_

 _but you know you won't be back."_

She ignores the funny look that Rick shoots her and continues to sing her heart out – at full throttle and way off-key. What she lacks in talent she makes up for in spirit.

" _Well, darlin' if you're weary_

 _lay your head upon my chest,_

 _we'll take what we can carry_

 _yeah, and we'll leave the rest._

" _Big wheels roll through fields where sunlight streams,_

 _meet me in a land of hope and dreams."_

"God, you're _awful!_ " he laughs as they drive over the Flint River.

"I know and I don't care," she says, grinning happily despite his critique.

He turns the volume up to deliver the reins back to Springsteen.

She sings even louder.

" _Well, I will provide for you_

 _and I'll stand by your side,_

 _you'll need a good companion now_

 _for this part of the ride._

" _Leave behind your sorrows_

 _let this day be the last,_

 _tomorrow there'll be sunshine_

 _and all this darkness past._

" _Big wheels roll through fields where sunlight streams,_

 _meet me in a land of hope and dreams."_

She sees him wince painfully hard when she hits a spectacularly bad note and they both laugh in good spirits as the tires eat up the road toward Manchester.

* * *

Three hours later, Erin looks out the window as the thicket of tall trees rush past in a sea of green and brown. The forest closes in on both sides of the narrow dirt road leading up to the cabin, but it doesn't feel suffocating or oppressive like some wooded areas tend to be. She feels protected, welcomed by the lush foliage that sways in the wake of the car as Rick steers toward another sharp bend.

As the car veers right, inertia pulls the box on the back seat to the left and she hears the crackle of tablets and capsules rattling around inside the small pill bottles piled inside the box. They had gotten lucky at the cancer center with only a few walkers in their way and a nice assortment of medical supplies to be found. Rick had dealt with the walkers easily and it didn't take them long to locate and raid the pharmacy and stock room.

The woods finally open up to a clearing and though she'd never been to his cabin outside of their dreams, she feels like she is coming home.

The small glimpses of rich golden brown logs that she had seen through the frothy branches of her dream willow tree had given her just a hint of the structure before her now. Nestled among the peaceful trees and pretty wildflowers, an attractive little cabin sits quietly along the bank of the scenic lake. The cabin is quite small but its gabled roof with a two-tiered pitch above a small dormer adds character to the modest building.

Though the wraparound porch with its two chairs facing the water is extremely inviting, the sight of the great willow tree pulls her from the car before Rick has the engine turned off.

Rushing up to the huge rock – _their rock_ \- perched on the lakeshore, she slows her pace to reach up and brush her hand along the sweeping tendrils of the tree. Their soft leaves caress her palm as she walks by, gazing up at the green splendor. Reaching the rock, she instinctively steps around to the other side to find the squat tree stump needed for the boost to climb onto the surface of the large flat stone. Standing in the center and looking out over the still water with its reflections of grand trees and white fluffy clouds, one singular notion comes to mind; _This is exactly what dreams are made of._

She hears Rick climbing up behind her and a moment later his arms are circling around her waist, pulling her back against him. As real as her dreams had felt at the time, they aren't even close to what it feels like to be here in his arms right now.

"Hey look, there they are," he says softly behind her ear as a family of ducks waddles into the water across the lake.

She leans back and tilts her head against his jaw, snuggling into him and feeling indescribably content. "Yup, all _five_ of them," she teases as the littlest duckling rushes out from behind a tree.

He chuckles against her hair. "I see him."

"It's so peaceful here, Rick."

"Yeah," he replies softly. "Too bad we can't all fit in the cabin," he says with a sigh. "You want to see it now?"

She turns in his arms and winds her fingers into the thickening hair at his nape. "In a minute," she whispers before lifting her chin and softly pressing her lips to his. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"My pleasure."

"It will be," she breathes against his lips with a smile and he kisses her gently, keeping his mouth to hers with just enough pressure to convey his affection and holding the moment dear without striking the match to set it on fire. She knows that will come later.

When he covers her mouth completely, she parts her lips and strokes his tongue in a delicate dance between two souls created to cherish each other. His mouth is gentle as his hands rest casually on her hips, not restrained but relaxed as her flutter basks cozily in the warmth of his love.

His kiss is long and lazy and perfect and powerful, harnessing time and tranquility as the world drifts away in the fading echo of one little duckling.

When he finally pulls back, he leans his forehead to hers as she breathes deep, treasuring this moment. With the hot sun on her back, her hands curl into the fabric covering his chest and she feels like they've come full circle, realizing a dream that began a long, long time ago. _God I love you, Rick._ Though she doesn't say the words aloud, she clearly hears the soft whisper of his reply.

"I love you back, Erin. Always."

She leans back to smile into his eyes. "You heard me," she says in a voice tinged with awe.

"Loud and clear." He gives her a quizzical look. "Was I not supposed to?"

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders she hugs him tightly. "Of course you were."

She feels his lips press hard against the base of her neck before he says, "Alright, Red. Let me show you the cabin."

Her flutter beams brightly when he takes her hand to lead her home.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N Thank you so much for those wonderful reviews – especially Tilly and my dear Bluecrush! You can't imagine how much they mean to me! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much (With Rick at his sexy best - I have a feeling you will!). Let me know what you think...**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-five

The creak of the well-worn steps welcomes Erin as Rick leads her onto the porch of the cabin. He lets go of her hand to reach beneath the welcome mat and comes up with a key.

Watching him push the door open, she peers around his shoulder, eager for her first glimpse of the interior. Waiting for him to step inside or step to the side, she is surprised when he turns around and lifts her in his arms like a bride. Holding onto his shoulders, she leans into his neck as he carries her across the threshold, feeling like the most cherished woman in the world.

A couple of long strides and he stops in the center of the open floor plan. "So here's the tour."

The interior surprises her greatly. The exterior logs are worn with time and weather from nature's relentless caress and the roof looks like it has seen more bandages than a hockey team, but the inside gleams through a thin layer of dust. Despite its neat and tidy appearance with framed paintings of colorful lake scenes, the place is very masculine.

To the right, long windows on either side of a stone mantel admit a nice amount of sunlight to brighten the many shades of warm browns that make up the walls, floor and furniture. A cozy-looking couch with plaid earth-tones sits with two chestnut rockers in front of the large fireplace. Another wide window above a countertop on the far wall highlights a rustic oak table with four chairs in a small kitchen area.

Rick turns in a slow arc for her to see everything. "Den… kitchen… back door… stairs to the loft – there's a small bed for up there for Carl," he says and she looks up to the top of the narrow staircase where a wooden railing stretches from wall to wall, overlooking the den below. More sunlight spills over the railing so she assumes there are more windows up there, just below the thick rafters of the high ceiling.

"The bathroom is through there." He motions with his chin toward a door set in the wall to the immediate left of the front entrance. "And this is my bedroom," he says, carrying her through an opened doorway next to the bathroom.

The room is sparse but homey with a small dresser and one nightstand holding a stack of books waiting to be read. Two windows look out to a small slice of the lake where Erin sees a couple of orange kayaks resting on the bank. She can imagine Rick and Carl having a wonderful time out on the lake on warm summer days. "You have a lovely place here, honey," she says as he lays her down on a russet and red bedspread.

"Thank you." His mouth covers her smile as his palm covers her breast.

She loops a leg over his thigh to pull him toward her center. In the midst of a soft groan, a fierce growl from her empty belly stills the hand slipping beneath her tank top.

"Jeez," he laughs, drawing back from the kiss. "I guess I ought to feed you before that thing in there attacks me."

"I am pretty hungry but I can wait." She lifts her mouth to his again but he pulls back after just a brief touch.

"I can wait too." He pulls her up from the bed as her stomach cheers with another loud rumble. "Come on, Red. Let's see if there's anything in the kitchen before we grab your pack from the car."

Erin follows him into the kitchen and leans on the end of the rectangular table while Rick opens one cabinet after another. Beyond his shoulders she spots an assortment of canned soups, ramen noodles, two bags of chips, one box of cereal and the standard condiments for a barbeque. She watches him pull everything out and line it up on the counter. Then after a quick glance at her with a slight gleam of mischief, he reaches to the top shelf and pulls down a small white and tan container with a dark brown pump on top. It looks like some kind of soap dispenser.

"Have you ever tried this?" he asks, turning back to her. "My mom brought it down once and forgot it. Carl got in the habit of putting it on his ice cream." He holds it up and she reads _'Barista Cafe Caramel Flavored Latte Foam'._

"No, I've never even heard of it. Is it good?"

"It is actually. Try it," he says softly, gazing at her mouth and lifting the bottle to her lips.

She opens her mouth and lets the edge of her tongue rest on her bottom lip, and then watches his eyes grow dark with desire. He squirts a small amount of cream onto her tongue and then descends upon it before she can take it in. With a stealthy sweep, he sucks the majority of it off before she swallows the rest with a fervent chuckle. "Mmmm…, delicious." She leans back and looks into dancing eyes that are becoming even darker with need. She knows that look. She loves that look. She drapes her arms over his shoulders as he places the bottle by her hip. When he descends upon her again, he fills her mouth with a bruising kiss full of intense need as he presses his body against her.

Strong hands grasp the backs of her thighs and she clings to him tightly as her feet leave the floor. He sets her on the hard surface of the table and she pulls him down as she leans back, sinking further and further until her shoulder blades are resting on the wood. He continues to kiss her as his large hand finds its way beneath the hem of her tank top and massages her bosom through the satiny bra. She moans into his mouth and he breaks the kiss, causing her to moan loader.

Leaning back, he slides her shirt over the slope of her breasts and then stands up, towering over her and looking fiercely powerful and incredibly sexy."Take it off."

The authority in his tone sends her flutter into a tailspin as her lower legs dangle from the table. _Oh, my._ "You're not drunk this time, are you now?" she asks, breathless with her own ferocious need.

"Not at all, so I'm gonna make the most of it." He squints at her with a devilish smirk. "I won't let you take advantage of me this time."

She answers his smirk with a small grin of her own and drags her tongue along the edge of her teeth in a seductive taunt. She feels his hands squeeze her thighs as his jaw visibly hardens.

"Take it off," he repeats softly, his voice gentle with restraint but completely demanding in tone.

She hesitates for a moment, drinking in his sensually savage expression as she rubs the inside of her knees against his hips, the rustling of their denim jeans the only sound in the quiet cabin. Arching her back, she pulls her tank top off and sits up to reach behind her for the clasp of her bra. When his eyes drop to her chest, she drops her hands. As her heart pounds with eager but anxious energy - knowing that he doesn't always appreciate her headstrong nature and their frequent battles of will - she puts a hand to his jaw and lifts his chin until he meets her gaze. "You too," she says with a touch of defiance, slightly nervous and extremely aroused. "Take it off."

When he doesn't move or respond in any way, she thinks he is going to refuse her command. But after a few heated and heavily charged moments, he tilts his head in a gesture of acquiescence and lifts his hands to the top button of his shirt.

She releases a breath and slowly slips out of her bra, watching him as he unbuttons his shirt completely to reveal a lengthy span of his chest and belly.

His eyes never leave hers.

It is all she can do to keep from looking down at his bare skin. She knows he is daring her to fight the same urge he couldn't control a minute ago – the urge that he seems to be combatting easily now as he maintains eye contact while her naked breasts rise and fall before him, higher and deeper with every ragingly ardent heartbeat. But she'll meet his challenge. Even if it kills her. When he slowly leans forward to stop just inches from her mouth, holding himself just out of reach with his eyes so blue and blazing hot - it almost does kill her.

With an inward groan against the flammable moan of her little flutter, she surrenders to him fully and closes the distance between them with a crash of lips, teeth and tongue. She pulls him down to lie over her, clawing at his back, his hair, his shoulders, anywhere and everywhere she can reach as she grinds her groin against the hardness inside his jeans.

"Slow down, baby." He pulls back, chest heaving and arms straining as he holds himself above her.

"Rick..." she breathes, hating the pleading tone that she is helpless to disguise.

"I want to take my time here. And I did promise to feed you first," he says, pushing off the table to stand upright. He reaches for something at her hip. "So here..."

She watches him pump a dollop of the latte foam onto his own tongue and then lean over her again. She parts her lips to accept his offering and sucks the cream into her mouth, holding him there to extend the kiss. He begins to pull away and she moans deeply. "Nnnn…" She locks her ankles behind his back to keep him from retreating again as she strokes his tongue, loving the taste of Rick-flavored cream.

When she finally lets him go, he pushes up on one hand as the other holds the bottle over her breast. "My turn now."

She twitches slightly when the foam hits her nipple, and then trembles when his mouth devours it. He moves to her other peak for the same treatment, licking the cream and stroking her flesh with warm lips and a hot tongue.

"Yummy," he murmurs as she pants heavily beneath him.

She grips the edge of the table when he slowly unzips her jeans and fills her belly button. He sips from the tiny crater and she releases a breathy hiccup; a sound caught somewhere between a moan and a giggle. She squirms with anticipation as he leisurely removes her clothes, taking his time and driving her mad as she aches for him, one thought echoing repeatedly in her mind; _Take it off!_

Lying bare before him, the sunlight streaks across her breasts and highlights his hair with gold as he laps up the creamy arrow he'd painted from her navel to the tip of her opening. She weaves her fingers into his hair as she arches against the hard plane beneath her.

A calloused hand spreads her knees and she feels another touch of fluff on her inner thigh followed by the caress of soft lips. Then two oblong arcs grace either side of her opening and she smiles at the heart he just drew. He licks it away, tantalizingly slow and painfully steady. "God baby, please." He spreads her folds and she feels something only slightly more solid than a puff of air against her most sensitive flesh. It's a strange sensation but it is quickly forgotten when his tongue slips inside. "Oh, yeah."

Round and round he circles her nubbin, stroking her clit as he holds her knees wide. "Delicious," he murmurs as he delves deeper.

A minute later a thick finger replaces his tongue, moving deep within her core as his mouth returns to her nub. "Oh, God," she groans as her flutter twirls inside a tornado of endorphins, spiraling toward her release as he steers her toward oblivion.

"Come on, baby. Come for me now, sweetheart."

With one hand knotted in his hair and the other gripping the edge of the table, a million butterfly wings take flight in her lower belly. "Nnnnn…" Her heart pounds furiously and her toes tingle madly as they dangle limply toward the floor.

He stands between her thighs, looking incredibly sexy with his dark hair spiked in wavy tufts from her clenched fingers and his lips glistening with her moisture. She watches him push aside the hem of his open shirt and unfasten his jeans – moving much faster than he had when taking hers off. He shoves them down out of the way, just far enough.

Her head is spinning and her legs are trembling as he lifts her ankles and places each one carefully, reverently, upon his broad shoulders. A heady whimper bubbles up from her throat as the tip of his erection teases her enflamed entrance.

"I love you, Red."

"I love you back," she says in a pool of quivering sensation. "Al- _Ways!_ " she cries as he suddenly drives deep with a desperation on his face that says he needs to be there; right there, right now, all the way home.

He thrusts hard and fast as his hands grip her hips, digging his fingers into her skin as he moves in and out of her body in a rush of passionate grunts.

When he slows to a smoother stride, sinking into her in a deliciously slow dance, she feels every exquisite inch of him caressing her walls as the angle gives him access to her innermost nerves.

Clinging to the edge of the table behind her head, she opens her eyes and sees that his lids are lowered but not closed completely. He is focused on their connection, watching his body fuse with hers as she receives him again and again. His open mouth and the faint sneer of carnal hunger in his expression does wondrous things to her flutter. Watching him as he watches them become one is the most beautifully erotic thing she's ever seen.

She tilts her pelvis to take him even deeper and is rewarded with a groan that she feels from the barrel of his chest to the tender spot beneath her navel. Her flutter echoes his spirit and shouts from the rafters when he closes his eyes and thrusts fast and hard once again. _Yes!_

It isn't long before he holds himself deeply inside her after one powerful lunge, groaning her name and crushing his center to hers as his body shudders and shivers beneath her ankles. Her legs slip from his shoulders as he leans forward to collapse on top of her, his heaving chest wheezing for air. Wrapping her arms around his back and locking her feet behind him, she lifts her hips and grinds her bones against his, surfing the crest of her second orgasm as his wondrous tide crashes into her shoreline.

* * *

Driving out of the narrow dirt road with enough ruts to challenge the suspension of a champion monster truck, the thick cover of trees gives way to a paved road stretched out below a sea of dusky blue, sweeping waves of fuzzy pink clouds swimming across the horizon. Rick turns left onto the quiet street and steers the Honda north, riding along the edge of the vast meadow that he's rolled past so many times before, but never with his soul so buoyantly fulfilled; every blade of grass seems perfectly placed, crisply defined under the rose-tinted sky. With Erin at his side he is filled with a deep-seated peacefulness that tells him he is exactly where he is supposed to be.

Once again Mr. Springsteen rides shotgun as she sings along – softly thank God – to a hard-hitting song about a man's desperate will to prove himself to his lover, all night long, for the fate of their love. Listening to the words, Rick quickly empathizes with the prolific songwriter and the story he tells.

 _Everybody's got a hunger, a hunger they can't resist,  
There's so much that you want, you deserve much more than this,  
But if dreams came true, oh, wouldn't that be nice,  
But this ain't no dream we're living through tonight,  
Girl, you want it, you take it, you pay the price…_

Curled up in her seat, Erin is facing him with her knees tucked under her chin as her mouth moves faintly to the heartfelt lyrics of the compelling tune. He can see her eyes growing heavier and heavier with every yawn that she tries to sing through and he smiles at the woman who owns his heart. Despite her nails-on-the-chalkboard vocal prowess, she is everything to him. He reaches for her hand and brings it up to his mouth, pressing his lips to her knuckles.

"You overwhelm me," she says sleepily with the most peaceful expression on her face.

He grins at her tenderly, thinking of the afternoon they'd just spent wrapped up in each other's arms followed by one last quickie before hitting the road. "The feeling is mutual, Red."

She closes her eyes as the song comes to an end and he turns down the volume to let her sleep - and to keep her from waking with the temptation of singing again. He loves her more than life itself but he will do everything in his power to prevent her from performing another painful serenade. He can think of several ways to keep her lovely mouth occupied. His cock twitches in his jeans and he shifts in his seat to alleviate the pressure as he quickly glances back at her with a filthy guilty conscience. He groans inwardly at his lack of self control where she is concerned. But the truth is, he would love to spend more time at the cabin alone with her, honorable ethics be damned.

Maybe they will come back someday. If Savannah doesn't work out, he'll bring their whole group back to Woodland. It's remote enough with plenty of fish and wildlife in the area to sustain them. They would just need to add onto the cabin itself before the frigid months of winter rolled around again.

Selfishly he'd like to keep the place secret, a private sanctuary for just the two of them. He could hunt and fish all morning to keep her fed, and then make love to her every afternoon. He'd even let her make a meal out of him sometime, licking sweet somethings off of his most sensitive parts. His cock twitches again and he has to swallow another groan. _Jesus, will I ever get enough of her?_ One thing is for sure; if they ever make it back, he will never look at that table the same way again. After years of meals and countless conversations in the small kitchen, he will never be able to sit at that table without wanting to throw her across it. The bedroom had also become their own little pocket of heaven as they'd snuggled together and talked the afternoon away. He will cherish the memory for the rest of his life.

Turning into the parking lot of the motel an hour later, bright orange streaks flourish the blue-black sky just above the silhouette of hills and trees to the west. In the waning shades of twilight, Rick sees their group assembled in front of Daryl's pickup truck. _They must have just returned themselves_. He pulls the Element next to the Winnebago and scans the faces of his friends. He is relieved to see Glenn and T-Dog, who had gone on a siphoning campaign through a strip of car dealerships over in Forsythe, and Morgan who is standing at the bumper of Daryl's truck. But searching the faces standing before Morgan, he doesn't see the hunter anywhere. Or Michonne. He just sees deep concern in the expressions of every face in the parking lot.

"What's going on?" Erin says softly, matching his thoughts exactly.

"I don't know," he murmurs as he shifts into park with an uneasy hand. He turns the ignition key off and his adrenaline kicks in when he sees Merle swing his left arm angrily at Morgan's head. "Shit!" Rick jumps out of the car with his belly following two seconds behind.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Rick races to step between Morgan and Merle, whose upper arms are being held back by a frustrated T-Dog. "What the hell is going on here?!" he shouts, planting his feet and stretching his arms to keep distance between the two men.

"He came back without my brother!"

Rick looks at Morgan as Duane rushes to his father's side. The man's eyes are warring between anger and a remorse that fills Rick's gut with a thickening fear. After a quick glance to see his sister sitting in front of her room with Carl, he turns back to his friend as the sun slips further down behind the western hills. "What happened, Morgan?" he asks, dreading the answer. "Where's Daryl?"

"A bunch of guys took him," Morgan replies, sounding physically and emotionally winded. "Michonne too."

Rick shakes his head, trying to comprehend the meaning of 'took' and the magnitude of the situation. "What guys? Where were they taken?"

"Let me go ya filthy dog!" Merle shouts, squirming against T-Dog's stronghold. "I gotta get my brother!"

Rick looks back and lifts a palm to Daryl's angry brother in a gesture to take it easy. "We're gonna get him, but I need you to calm down so I can get the whole story." Compassion laces the authority in his tone while his nerves are muzzled under a heavy coat of desperate hope. "If you want to help your brother then you've got to let me do my job." Taking a deep breath around the anxious knot that has lodged itself squarely inside his throat, he turns to Morgan. "Do you know where they were taken?"

"Yeah," Morgan nods. "Four guys took them to a section of Woodbury that was all blocked off with busses and tires and stuff."

 _Oh, God, I sent them there! What have I done?_ Rick swallows the guilt that brings the bile up into the back of his throat. But at least he knows where to find them so he hangs onto that. "Okay. Start at the beginning and tell me everything that happened."

"We were just outside Woodbury, going through a couple of shops before we hit the main street in town. Daryl was checking a sporting goods store for bows and ammo while Michonne and I searched a diner. She went back out while I was just finishing up. When I walked out a minute later I saw her running down the street with her sword, swinging at a bunch of guys that were dragging Daryl into a white Dodge pickup." Morgan pauses and Rick notices a quick uncomfortable glance aimed at Merle before he continues. "He looked unconscious."

"I'll fuckin' kill 'em!" Merle twists in a vicious rage but T-Dog's grip holds strong.

"What happened then?" Rick asks, turning back to Morgan after seeing that Merle is safely detained.

"Michonne cut one of them real bad but the others grabbed her and threw her in with Daryl."

"Why didn't you go after them?!" Merle yells accusingly, leaning toward Morgan with a sneer as his captor prevents him from thrashing out.

"We were outnumbered and I knew I'd be in the same boat if they saw me so I stayed back. Figured I'd see where they were taking them and then come back here for help." Morgan pauses to look at Merle again. "I'm sorry I left your brother. But this was the only way to save him."

"You did the right thing, Morgan." Rick throws a challenging scowl at Merle before looking back to Morgan. "So you followed them to this section of town," he says to keep them on track. "Tell me about this place."

"They've got two blocks barricaded off with paramilitary wanabees standing guard. The northern end has some tree coverage to get close to the buildings and there is less security, but there's no way to get inside without climbing over the bus that the guard is standing on. The southern gate looked like it had a rolling fence between stacks of huge tires, but there were three guards standing on some kind of platform behind the tire wall."

Rick pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to picture the setup that Morgan is describing. "What about the other sides? They've got to have alleys between the buildings. How were they blocked off?"

"Most of the buildings are attached storefronts so there are only a couple of alleys. They have chain-linked fencing and stacks of furniture to keep the walkers from getting in there. There's a bookstore between one alley and a coffee shop right by the front gate, I think that's where they're being held."

"How do you know?" Glenn asks.

"I saw the truck pull into the gate and they got out right on the other side. The gate closed before I could see exactly where they were being taken, but the voices were coming from the right side, saying something about a library. I went around behind the buildings and found a bookstore that had the back door all boarded up. It was the only place I saw that seemed to be trying to keep people in as much as keeping the walkers out."

"That's gotta be their holding tank," Rick says, the wheels of his brain spinning madly with every word that Morgan breathes.

"I'm sure it is but it'll be tough getting into the alley without attracting the attention of the guards," Morgan says. "It's too close to that front gate."

"Could you get an idea of how many people are in this town?" Rick asks, wondering exactly what they are going up against, and praying that it isn't an army.

"A lot. Women and children too, just walking around like any old Sunday afternoon discussing the weather with their neighbors after church. That's the weird part."

"Why?" Erin asks, standing between Dale and Glenn.

"Because," Rick replies, "Why would they go to the trouble of kidnapping people if it was a haven of happiness."

"Exactly," Morgan agrees. "They are definitely hiding something in there."

"What?" Dale asks.

"I don't know," Morgan responds, "But their security guards kept talking about some governor and mentioned prisoners in a library."

"What kind of governor would kidnap people to keep prisoner?" Carol asks, sounding fearful of another human being for the first time since her husband was killed.

"Not a good one," Dale answers. "How do we get them out?"

"Take out the guards and blow the fuckin' door off the bookstore if we have to!" Merle hollers, free from T-Dog's grasp but not too far out of reach as the black man stays close to his side.

"And kill your brother in the process!" Rick rubs a tired hand over his face to stay focused. "We have to be smart about this," he adds after taking a deep, calming breath.

"And not risk a battle that kills women and children in the crossfire," Kelly says after joining the discussion with Amy.

Rick glances back at the motel to make sure that Carl is still out of earshot. He gives his son a quick reassuring smile as the boy sits with Sophia, who is laughing at something she is saying to him. Standing in front of Carl, Nikki looks back at Rick with an anxious expression on his furry face, as if wanting to join the conversation with the grownups but not willing to leave his boy unprotected. He also looks somehow incredibly sad, like he feels Daryl's absence profoundly. _I hear ya, pal._

"We need to get somebody inside, Rick," Glenn says, bringing his attention back to the deliberating at hand.

"But the only way in is through the gates," Morgan reminds them.

"So, what if I just walk up to the gate?" Erin says. "I'm sure they'll let me in."

"Like they welcomed Michonne?" T-Dog says sarcastically.

"She was charging at them with a katana," Erin replies defensively. "I can get inside and distract the guards."

"No way, Red. You're not getting near that town." Rick shakes his head adamantly. "Especially alone."

"Then you'll come with me as a wounded friend," Erin says and he can see her own wheels spinning. But he doesn't like the direction they are traveling. "We'll approach slowly, non-threatening so they'll let their guard down," she continues. "Morgan can lead Glenn and T-Dog to the back of that alley while we keep the guards occupied."

"And then what?" Glenn asks sounding somewhat at odds with the idea, for which Rick is extremely grateful.

"Then you guys break into the building from the alley," Erin responds. "There's got to be a side door or a window over there and the walls of the buildings will help cover the sounds."

"Forget it, Erin." Rick shoots her a warning glare that seems to deflect right off of the fire in her eyes.

"It's a good idea and you know it, Rick," she argues.

"We need to get somebody through that gate," T-Dog sighs with a weary look of resignation. "It's the only way we can get close to where they are being held."

"And if they're hurt, she'd be the one to help them," Morgan adds and Rick sees her give him a small smile of gratitude.

 _Christ!_ "She's still limping from the damn snake!"

"I'm fine, honey. And you'll be right there with me. We can do this, Rick."

He looks at her and his heart argues with the gut that is telling him it may be the best chance of rescuing their friends. _Fuck._ The determination in her eyes helps to convince him that she is capable of doing this. But with the danger of an unknown adversary, he wants to keep her as far away as possible.

She moves to stand before him and places her hands upon his cheeks; bringing out the big guns to win the battle. _Dammit._ She looks up at him with the most compassionate eyes he's ever seen. "Daryl might need medical attention, honey." _Direct hit, right to the gut!_ "You need me there," she says softly but steadfast, crushing him beneath her size nine hiking boot as her pinkies caress his jaw.

 _Fucking hell._ At least he will be at her side. "Fine. But if I'm gonna let you do this, then I've got to see this place for myself first. Morgan, I want you to take Glenn and me back there tonight."

"Alright, let's go," Merle says.

"You're not going anywhere, Dixon." Rick says. "I know it's your brother but you can't -"

"I'll kill 'em all with my fuckin' stump!"

"You've got to trust me here. I'll get him back."

"Ya ain't stoppin' me, sheriff!"

Rick can see that the man is not going to back down. And he doesn't blame him. "Look at me." Rick peers into eyes that are angry, agitated, somewhat sad but definitely sober. "How much did you drink today?"

"Just enough to take the edge off. Didn't want to pass out while holding down the fort here. Now let's stop wasting time." Merle takes a step toward the passenger side of the pickup truck.

"Wait." Rick lifts his arm to block his path."We're not doing anything tonight except getting the lay of the land. I don't need you running in with guns blazing."

"That's my brother!"

"I know. And we're gonna get him in the morning. At first light. I want them to see Erin clearly and I want to be able to see them clearly. Tonight, when it's full dark and most of the people are asleep, we're just gonna check around the perimeter."

The man meets Rick's unwavering gaze with a stubborn scowl that stretches taut between them. The sheriff inhales deeply with a tilt of his head, gearing up for the next round, and then exhales slowly when the redneck finally, reluctantly replies, "Fine."

Turning back to Erin as Merle walks away, Rick leans close to her and quietly says, "But if I see a chance to get in there tonight, I'm taking it. If not, you'll come with us in the morning."

"Okay." She nods her head and he appreciates the absence of a smug reply. _She must be scared to death._

He takes both of her hands in his. "And you will follow my orders to the letter. That is the only way I will even consider your idea. Understood?"

"Yes."

He leans his forehead against hers. "God help us."

* * *

The scent of candlewax and distant dreams fills the shadowed motel room. After spinning a six, Erin moves her little red plastic car to a PAYDAY space and absently collects her money from Sophia. Carl follows with a two and a groan at having to pay for a family portrait.

"Man, that's an expensive picture," Duane teases as he reaches for the spinner.

"Do you want it?" Carl asks the other boy. "I'll sell it to you for ten thousand dollars."

"No way!" Duane laughs as he moves his car five spaces.

"You can't do that, Carl. Right Mom?" Sophia looks at Carol for validation.

"No, sweetie. And I think Carl was only joking."

"No I wasn't. He can have it!"

Their voices fade away as Erin stares at the small car that marks her place as the frontrunner in the 'Game of Life'. The miniscule minivan is nearly full with her tiny blue stick-version of Rick in the driver's seat and three baby sticks behind them – twin boys and a little girl. _If only._

She finds it impossible to concentrate on the game with Rick doing God knows what an hour away in Woodbury. She knows that he will do everything he can to try to rescue their friends tonight in order to keep her from going tomorrow. She wouldn't mind that at all, but if he puts himself in danger by taking stupid risks, she is going to kill him dead. _Where the hell are you, sheriff?_ She angles her head to peek at Carol's watch for the hundredth time in the last three hours. With a sympathetic look, her friend lifts her hand for a better view of the roman numerals circling the small round clock face.

"It won't be long now," Carol says softly.

Erin shakes her head slowly. "This is killing me," she utters under her breath. "What if some-," She breaks off abruptly at the sound of an approaching car. Looking through the opened doorway, she sees a bloom of light spreading across the motel parking lot from the oncoming headlights. She looks back at Carol and sees the same feeling of blessed relief mirrored on her friends face.

"Go. I'll stay here with the kids."

"Thank you." Erin quickly unfolds her legs and scrambles to the door.

"Is that Dad?" Carl asks.

"I think so." _Please God_. "I'll send him in before you go to bed. Okay, bud?"

"Can you tell my dad too?" Duane asks.

"Sure thing." She races out the door, praying that both men have indeed returned.

Running to the driver's side as three car doors are pushed open, she throws her arms around Rick's neck as soon as he is standing upright. _Thank you baby Jesus!_ She clings to his shoulders as his arms wrap loosely around her back. Several heartbeats thud by before he tightens his hold on her, as if finally deciding it was okay to do so. She leans back to meet his eyes, curious of his strange reaction. "It was worse than you thought?" she asks tightly, as Merle steps around Morgan and Glenn to hear Rick's reply.

"No, it was exactly as I thought," he says, sounding both happy and annoyed with her. "I was just hoping for something better," he adds, his expression an odd conglomerate of joy infused with disappointment. Knowing him so well, she recognizes the joy for their reunion, and the disappointment that he couldn't get their friends without having to involve her.

"What did you see, Rick?" Dale asks from his perch behind a lantern on top of the camper as T-Dog joins the group, with Amy and Kelly also following the beam of his flashlight.

Erin watches Rick meet everyone's eyes individually before speaking, acknowledging their presence to include them all in the discussion. Then looking up at Dale, he says, "There was barbed wire on the fence in the alley, and no side door or window from what we could see. We couldn't pry the wood off the back door without making too much noise and I didn't want to risk it, it's pretty close to the guards up front." He looks back at Erin before continuing. "We need a bigger diversion than just the two of us at the gate."

"There's a feed store at the other end of the block that we're gonna set on fire," Glenn announces, picking up the directive from Rick. "Attract as many guards as we can to it."

"We'll get there early enough to take our positions in the darkness," Rick continues. "Then Erin and I will show up at the gate at daybreak."

"Me and T-Dog will start the fire," Glenn adds, tag-teaming with Rick to explain the plan they evidently came up with. "It'll go up quick and we'll race back around to the alley where Morgan and Merle will be waiting."

"What about the barbed wire on the fence?" Kelly asks.

"They'll throw a thick blanket over it. It won't be a problem," Rick answers. "The guards will take our weapons at the gate and send someone to get their leader, this governor," he says with disdain. "We'll give them a gun from me and a knife that Erin will have at her belt. But we'll hide another knife in her boot."

"Why would you give them a gun?" Amy asks.

"It won't be loaded but we have to give them something without argument to appear trustworthy," Rick replies."I'll cough and stagger in the direction of the bookstore so we'll be close when the fire starts. They have a guard in front of the door and I'll have to take him out if he doesn't run off toward the flames."

Erin blinks away the flash of apprehension in her eyes before Rick can see it. Too late. _Damn._ "The door will probably be locked. How will we break in?" she asks quickly, ignoring the look of concern aimed at her.

"I'll pick the lock with one of Kelly's bobby pins."

"Okay," Glenn continues, looking at Erin. "So you and Rick will get into the bookstore and get Daryl and Michonne. We'll clear the alley and cover you coming back out. Then we all climb back over the fence and get the hell out of there."

Erin squeezes Rick's hand when he entwines his fingers through hers. "Now go get some sleep," he tells Glenn and T-Dog. When he looks back at her, his eyes are heavy with apprehension and his words are thick and foreboding. "We leave before dawn."

 _Oh God._


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

The moon slips quietly from the Georgia sky to brighten the night under a western town. In its wake the sun begins its climb into a pale blue horizon. Rick lifts his wrist from Erin's shoulder to peer at his watch. He reads 6:13 and then closes his eyes, wishing they could just freeze time and stay like this forever; toe to toe and heart to heart with his arms wrapped across her shoulders, her arms securely around his back, his chin leaning comfortingly against her temple and her breath warming the patch of exposed skin between the opened top buttons of his blue denim shirt. Unfortunately, time is a luxury not to be granted beyond this stolen moment of tenderness. Not today.

He sighs heavily. "Almost time now," he says. "Glenn will be lighting the match in seven minutes." He feels Erin shiver inside her yellow tee shirt and he hugs her tighter against him as they stand in the shadows of a useless gas station, its pumps bled dry and long forgotten. The morning air, warm and pleasant outside of Woodbury's southern gate, cannot be the cause of the tremor simmering through her body. Her arms tighten at his back and he recognizes her own attempt at hijacking precious seconds of peaceful affection, securing them to this spot with a hardy growl at Father Time. "We've got to go, honey."

"I know," she murmurs before burrowing into his neck. "Promise me we'll finish this…this…conversation later."

"I promise." He leans back and lifts her chin to meet his gaze. "It's gonna be fine, Red. We'll be in and out before you know it and I'll be with you the entire time."

"Okay."

"Whatever happens, you do not leave my side," he says firmly, fiercely.

"I won't. Not ever." Her eyes shine with such love and trust that his soul aches just looking at her.

With profound hope and a desperate will to prevail, he holds her chin and lowers his mouth to hers in a short burst of emotion that contains all the fury of his love for her.

* * *

Shuffling through the opened gate, Rick leans heavily on Erin. To ease her burden – knowing that her leg isn't completely healed no matter what she says - he pulls his weight as much as he can as he drags his right foot, praying that he appears to be in terrible pain and on the verge of collapse. After a few muffled words are exchanged between the guards above them, three men step down from the scaffolding behind the barricade, leaving one man to keep his gaze on the buildings, trees and pavement that stretch out beyond the confines of their settlement. From the corner of his eye, Rick sees the youngest of the threesome break away in a slow trot, undoubtedly to inform their leader. The other two guards head straight to meet them.

With a quick glimpse from beneath his hooded eyes, Rick sizes up the pair. Though opposite in attitude and appearance, they wear the same expression of military obligation, which says they are used to taking orders and getting the job done. Rick figures them to be both in their early thirties and equally muscular, but where one is very tall and light skinned the other is considerably shorter with dark features.

"Thank you. Thank you so much," Erin says to the taller of the two guards. Though his height should be intimidating, his youthful face, surrounded by shaggy blonde waves and a scruff of patchwork stubble, is much more open and welcoming than the stocky man with his cropped black hair and dark beard. "I don't think we could've survived another day out there. He's so weak and I've never been so exhausted."

"You said a snake bit him? What color was it?" the stocky man asks casually, his tone more of curiosity than concern.

"Light Brown," Erin replies. "We don't know what kind though because it slithered away as fast as it had come out. We just saw a brown blur. I don't think it had a rattle but I can't swear to it."

"Nah," Stocky says, sounding a bit disappointed. "If it was a rattler he'd be dead already."

Rick feels a tremor shimmy through Erin and continue through him like a streak of lightning searching for an outlet. His shoulders move with an involuntary shrug as he thinks of what could have been, and how close she had come.

"Probably not," she says. "But I think it's getting infected. He hasn't been himself all night."

"We'll have the doc check him out," Shaggy tells her. "Once the Governor says you can stay."

"Oh, please don't let him turn us away."

"Don't worry. I don't think he'll object, seeing as how it's only two of you."

"Why is it only two of you?" Stocky asks with a grain of suspicion. "How come you ain't with a bigger group?"

"We were," Erin responds. "We got separated from them four days ago when a herd of walkers came through our camp."

Groaning deeply, Rick leans more heavily on Erin and then shambles toward the right, forcing her to stagger with him in the direction of the book store, where one man stands guard in the early light of dawn.

"Hang on, honey," Erin says, straining beneath his weight as she continues to move to the right where a wood bench with wrought-iron rails sits in front of the coffee shop. "Let's get you to that bench."

"Hold on, let's get your weapons and then you can go sit him down." Stocky holds out his palm and flicks his fingers in the universal 'hand-it-over' signal.

"Oh, sorry," Erin says. "I forgot about your price of admission. Here." She lets go of the forearm slung around her neck to reach for the knife at her left hip. Rick eases his hold on her as much as possible without giving anything away. "This is all I have and he just has the Glock in his holster."

The urge to attack the man unsnapping his holster is so strong that Rick has to focus intently on Erin's breathing to keep from blowing their cover. _Come on, Glenn. Where's that blaze?_

"Alright, go sit him down," Shaggy says. "The Governor should be out in a minute."

"Thank you."

"There he is," Stocky says a few moments later as Rick falls hard onto the weathered seat, dragging Erin down with him.

Rick maintains his illusion of depending upon her support, but tilts his chin a fraction to view the asshole they call their leader. Looking beyond the series of solar panels lined up in the grassy center median that separates the two lanes of Main Street, he sees a tall slender man with short brown hair walking down the steps from a brick building across the street. His gait is confident as his lying eyes scan himself – the severely injured stranger – and then rest long and leering on Erin. Internally, Rick shakes his head. Typical politician. _Don't even think about it, dickhead._

As the man steps onto the median, a sudden whoosh and a fearful shriek echo down the avenue. Rick watches the Governor quickly look toward the burning feed store and then back to his guards at the gate.

"Martinez, stay on guard!" he yells to the man on the wall before aiming his finger at Shaggy and Stocky. "O'Malley! Caruso! Get every bucket down to the river!"

Rick turns his head slowly in a lethargic display of confusion until his mouth is just above Erin's ear. "Here we go," he murmurs softly.

"Sully!" the Governor yells and the man guarding the bookstore rushes into the street. "Wake everybody up! We've got to put that fire out before it destroys the whole block!"

The two men race off and Rick glances up at the one man left to guard the whole southern end of Woodbury. Martinez divides his attention between the flames shooting out of the building down the street behind him, and the quiet expanse of blacktop and brick before him. Something must catch his eye beyond the tires because he raises the scope of a rifle to his eye. Probably a walker drawn by the shouting and roar of the fire, Rick thinks, grateful for any and every distraction.

Erin exhales deeply next to him and mutters her benevolent mantra of divinity,"Thank you baby Jesus."

"Let's go."

With just the right pressure and delicate little twist, Rick makes quick work with the bobby pin to open the door of the bookstore. "Give me the light," he says, holding his palm out to Erin as he peers into the dark room, shadows concealing everything beyond the sunlight that spills in from behind him. With the side windows boarded up, allowing only wispy strips of light in to glow upon the now priceless books, the room is full of darkness and deep shade.

"Here."

He feels something a little thicker and more flatly oblong than the small flashlight he knew she had stored in her pocket. Looking down at his hand, he sees the hilt of her knife resting in his open palm and the flashlight being offered from her other hand. Glancing up to her face, he gets an apologetic shrug. He nods in understanding, knowing that she is more than relieved that they didn't have to use the weapon to get through this door, and that she does not want to be the one possessing it if the need arises before they are free from this town.

He closes his fingers around the hilt and reaches for the flashlight with his other hand. He hears a muffled shuffle of movement and points its beam to reflect off a wall about three quarters down the length of the room, beyond a series of tables and low bookcases. A door sits squarely centered in the wall, giving access to the previous shopkeeper who would have used the space to run the business end of the store.

"Come on." Rick walks stealthily toward the door, following the beam of light in his left hand with the knife poised for defense in his right. Reaching the door, he leans in until his mouth is practically touching the jamb when he purses his lips. Blowing soft and steady, a long high note stretches for a few seconds before he follows it with several short deep tones, and then ends with a final lingering whine; a tune that Daryl himself had taught Carl just a few days earlier, and which his son had practiced until his lips were sore and everyone complained about hearing it in their sleep. Hopefully Daryl will hear it now.

"Rick?"

Michonne's voice is muted through the rough plywood but clearly it is hers.

"Michonne?"

"Rick! Get us out of here!" Her desperate plea is followed by a groan and then a murmured, "Easy Daryl."

"Hang on!" Rick whispers fiercely and then hands the flashlight to Erin. He retrieves his sister's spindly universal key and quickly works the spotlighted keyhole. Pulling the door open, he is greeted with a sour musty smell of dust and body odor.

"Oh, thank God," the dark woman breathes when the stream of light permeates the darkness. "How did you find us?"

"Morgan. He followed the guys that took you," Rick replies, peering through the gray shadows above the pool of light that shines upon the floor where Daryl lies on his side, his face an abstract masterpiece created by a demented artist with a fondness for black, blue, purple and all shades of reds. With his already beady eyes now swollen to mere slits, Daryl's angry face is a force of stubbornness and determination while his bent legs lie unmoving on the floor as he pushes his upper body off of the carpet. Rick's mouth goes dry. _Jesus._

"It's about time ya got here, sheriff."

Rick's heart had stalled momentarily but now kicks into overdrive when he sees Daryl slowly move his right leg along the floor, wincing smartly with the movement as he grabs his left knee in pain."Shit." Though extremely relieved that his friend isn't completely paralyzed as he'd initially thought, he suddenly realizes that it may not be so easy for Daryl to escape this prison.

Before he can move to help his friend, Erin rushes past him to crouch at Daryl's side. "How bad is it?" she asks. "Can you walk at all?"

"Yeah. They just kick-started my bum knee from a bike crash a few years back," Daryl says thickly, slurring through his swollen lips. "I just need a hand gettin' up."

"Michonne, go check the door. Make sure nobody followed us in here," Rick says, handing her the knife. He bends to get his shoulder beneath Daryl's armpit as Erin gets in position as his other crutch.

With Daryl unable to put any pressure at all on his injured leg, they work together in a ragged but effective hobble to get him to their only exit where Michonne is peering through the slightly opened door. "How's it look?" Rick asks, adjusting his shoulders to alleviate some of their burden from Erin.

"It's all clear right here," she replies. "Lot of carrying on down the street."

"Alright. You're on point," he tells her in a hushed command. "There's an alley just to the right. Stick close to the wall and head down that alley. Morgan and the others are waiting at the fence."

Michonne pushes the door farther out and they all squeeze through. "Go, go, go," Rick whispers urgently as he sees a small mob of townspeople running and shouting in some kind of organized chaos in front of the feed store, bright orange flames licking the morning sky under a thick cloud of billowing black smoke.

Following Michonne around the corner of the building, he almost heaves Daryl straight into her back when she suddenly stops short. He looks beyond her shoulder to see Morgan, Merle, Glenn and T-Dog all breathless and racing toward them, away from the jumble of furniture scattered at the end of the alley… and the small horde of the dead pressing up against the fence as they try to claw their way in.

"Go back!" Morgan yells in a hushed holler with his arms waving madly.

"Oh, fuck." Rick hears three more voices echoing his curse of the fates. Glancing back toward the main street, he sidesteps toward the wall until he's got Daryl and Erin in the shadow of the bricks. This is not good. _Fuck!_ He quickly swallows his frustration to concentrate on a backup plan. The well-oiled wheels of his mind spin smooth and steady. "Okay, Glenn, first things first." He holds out his hand and Glenn pulls the Colt from his belt. When the cool steel of his gun - an old familiar friend - rests against his flesh, lining up along the creases of his palm between the callouses of his job, he feels a little bit more in control.

Merle rushes forward and Rick eases out from Daryl's hefty embrace to lay his thick arm over his brother's shoulders. A soft painful groan emanates from the younger Dixon in the process. "He's okay," Rick tells Merle gently as a look of fear, anger and a bright green splash of jealousy flickers across the man's face. Though Rick hears only a low grunt in response, the reply comes through loud and clear as Merle moves in to _reclaim_ his brother from the sheriff.

Now free to lead the team, Rick turns to the other men. "T-Dog, take over for Erin. Glenn, get an eye on the street," he says as he unlocks the safety on the Colt. "Is there still just the one guard on the wall?" he asks as the Asian man peers around the corner of the building.

"Yeah."

Rick moves into place next to Glenn. "Alright, you got the silencer?"

"Yeah, but I don't think I can make the shot from here."

Judging the distance between their alley and the wall, Rick marks it as highly ambitious effort for a man with rudimentary skills. But not for a cop with over ten years of experience behind the trigger. "Here, give me that one."

They exchange weapons, bringing a much-relieved expression to Glenn's face. Rick lifts the Beretta to his eye, adjusts to the feel of the semiautomatic pistol, and lines up the sights until he is looking down its extended foot long muzzle with the black hair of the lone sentry in its bullseye, dead center. He inhales slowly, doing his best to ignore the sheer brutality of his actions as he reminds himself that it is either him or me. _Him_ … or Erin. Simple decision, no question about it. He releases the breath as his finger pulls back on the trigger.

A cushioned pop and the man goes down as a silent apology is sent skyward.

Rick swallows the bile creeping up the back of his throat, shakes off the mantle of guilt at wasting a life, and hands the weapon back to Glenn. His friend gives him a pitying look full of regret and redemption that says _I'm sorry you had to do that_ , cries _Thank you for saving us,_ and screams _How in the name of all that's holy did we end up here?!_

With a quick glance to the right and ensuring that the chaos is continuing to thrive up the street, he turns back to the others. "If we stick close to the shadows we should make it to the gate." He looks at Daryl, his battered body balanced grievously on one leg between Merle and T-Dog. "We're gonna have to move quick. You up for it?"

Before Daryl can answer for himself, T-Dog lifts his chin in determination and firmly states, "We'll get him there."

Merle coughs and Rick knows that he is choking on the gratitude that he can't help but feel toward the black man who is fighting for his brother.

"Okay, Morgan, you'll lead. I'll cover the rear and we'll keep Daryl in the middle," Rick says. "Just keep close to the coffee house and then we'll make our way along the wall until we reach the gate." He follows Erin closely, keeping one eye on her back and the other eye on the Main Street of Woodbury. She is keeping a steady pace with Glenn, who is trailing the trio and moving as quickly as Daryl's human crutches can carry him, which is fairly swift for the most part. As they make the turn to run in the shadow of the barricade, Rick hears the scrape of metal resonate from the alley they had just vacated. A moment later the rasp of scuffing wood joins the metallic crunch of the fence.

The walkers have gotten through.

Stepping through the gate behind the rest of his group, he glances toward the gas station where he and Erin had waited for the sun to rise, and sees several more clusters of walkers descending on the town. By the time all the walkers reach the wide open entrance, it will be a good sized herd to finish the job that he and his friends had started.

He turns right, following Morgan's lead toward the cars they had left by the railroad tracks on Harper Road about a mile away. They race past a scattering of trash and debris from a not-so-ancient civilization, left to blow in the breeze outside of the high walls and tidy lanes of the newly condensed town. He turns the corner around the Bank of Woodbury, a two-story cream-colored structure with red bricks adding some color where they climb up the corners of the building. Lifting his chin to peer around Erin's shoulder in an attempt to gage Morgan's progress in the lead, he nearly steps on his lover when she suddenly drops in front of him.

Glenn turns around at the grunt and muttered curse and Rick tells him to keep moving. Bending down to Erin, he slips his gun in its holster and rests his hand on her knee. "Are you okay? Is it your leg?"

"It's okay," she replies. "I just tripped on something."

"Come here." He pulls her up and catches her favoring her wounded leg. "Can you walk? Tell me honestly?"

"Yes. It's sore but I can walk. Come on." She turns and takes two steps, limping on her right leg.

With his focus aimed at her calf as he watches her take a third step, he is completely taken aback when an arm suddenly darts out of an opened doorway and grabs onto Erin, roughly pulling her back inside the perilous trap that is Woodbury.


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N Warning: Just letting you know that this chapter gets a little intense (it is after all the world of the Walking Dead, where life is far from rainbows and rapture), but trust me that it will all be okay in the end** _ **(for our favorite couple anyway).**_ **Just hold on tight and Rick will get us through this…**

* * *

Chapter 38

"Touch that weapon and she's dead."

Rick had instinctively reached for his gun, cursing himself for not keeping it in his hand until they were safely back in the car. But when Erin had stumbled to the ground, his common sense went right along with her. He'd holstered his weapon, helped her to her feet, and then helplessly watched her get swept away by a swift, menacing current. _Shit!_

His hand hovers just inches from the holster now as he quickly calculates the space between his gun, his hand and his enemy, and the time it would take to draw and fire his weapon into his enemy's face. Even if he could claim the fastest hand in the world, he knows that physics and Albert Einstein's theory of relativity are against him. The distance to his target is far greater than the distance between the Governor's bullet and Erin's skull. In this case, _E_ equals the end of Erin. _Fuck!_

Rick spreads his hands in surrender as his lover is held securely in this stranger's grasp. With one arm wrapped across her upper chest and his hand tenderly caressing her shoulder, it is a somewhat intimate display - if not for the other hand holding a .38 Special to her ear.

"Get in here." The man steps backward, never taking his eyes from Rick's as he pulls Erin further into a wide hallway.

"Alright." Rick swallows in an effort to get some moisture into his suddenly desert-dry mouth. "Don't hurt her." Fighting the urge to glance up the street, he quietly prays that Glenn had heard something and will come to their rescue. But he doubts it since he himself hadn't heard the whine of any moody door hinges; there just seemed to appear a void in a wall that was solid one moment and not the next. So it's going to be up to him alone to save them.

He steps into the building.

The Governor slowly backpedals toward an opened doorway on the right. "I see you're a fast healer," he says sarcastically. "Now shut that door," he orders. "Quietly now. No need to involve your friends in this."

Rick closes the rear exit to the building, shutting out the diminishing image of Glenn's back as he continues to follow Daryl and the others toward freedom. He is at once very sorry that he'd told Glenn to keep going when Erin had fallen, and very happy that his friends are getting away from this place.

With a heavy sheet of plywood bolted over the long rectangular window that fills the center of the door, the hall falls into a shadowy wasteland until Rick's eyes adjust to the gloom. The only light is a soft glow bleeding into the space from the door on the right, further up the corridor.

"That's it. Come join us." The words are spoken cordially, like an invitation to a dinner party, but his eyes can't disguise the malice behind the gesture as Erin is pulled into that doorway.

With hands clenched and heart pounding, Rick follows. He steps into a very spacious office, big enough to hold a staff meeting around a large conference table centered amid many chairs if necessary. But here, several small lamps reveal only one over-sized mahogany executive desk lining the left wall while two merlot-colored upholstered armchairs sit opposite it against the right wall. A beige love seat rests along the far wall leaving the center of the room wide open for wheeling and dealing business across the hardwood floor. Twin bookcases fill the right-hand corners of the room as a four-drawer file cabinet lies within rolling distance of the desk chair in the far left corner. A healthy potted plant drapes its elongated leaves over the edge of the cabinet just enough to soften the masculine space.

Watching the Governor where he stands by the back wall holding Erin as a shield before him, in his peripheral view Rick also notices that on the arm of the loveseat lies a brown jacket whose leather closely matches the long sword case leaning into the file cabinet a few feet away. The curved metal of a crossbow also catches his eye from where it rests against the leather tubing that encases the sword.

He blinks quickly, surreptitiously feigning innocence as he holds the Governor's gaze while the townsfolk continue to battle the raging fire outside, their shouts of distress a fitting soundtrack to the drama unfolding inside this room.

Even the attractive three-piece framed print set above the loveseat seems like a small white lie in this man's office. In any other room, the beautiful arch of oak trees flanking the pretty Savannah avenue would welcome you into the peaceful comfort that its creator had intended. Here, the deciduous tunnel feels more disconcerting than decorative as if it is leading you into a trap. The familiar sword and crossbow tucked into this stranger's personal space adds the thickest layer to the ominous ambiance of the room.

"She's a pretty one, isn't she?"

For a moment, Rick thinks he is talking about the katana, until the man presses his cheek into Erin's, causing her to close her eyes with a disgusted pout. Rick's jaw clenches painfully hard after his initial relief at realizing that he hadn't been caught eyeing the weapons.

"You can watch while I have a go at her," the man says casually. "Then she'll be the one limping, and nobody will be pretending this time, I promise you."

Rick's blood runs hot and swift, fueled by a murderous rage more vicious than anything he'd ever felt. His hand itches to reach for his gun again, desperate to end this ordeal and get Erin the hell out of there. But he holds his position, arms to the side until the time is right to make his move without jeopardizing her safety.

"See, I don't take kindly to people trying to burn down my town. Now you're going to have to pay for that." A large hand with long sleazy fingers slips down from Erin's shoulder to cup her breast.

Rick swallows hard, nearly gagging on his fury. He focuses on the bastards' eyes to constrain his wrath while he tries to devise a plan that won't make matters worse.

"Now before we get started, I'll need you to put that gun of yours on the floor and slide it toward me. I'll thank you for proceeding with extreme caution here. I wouldn't want your lovely lady's brains dirtying up my office."

As Rick slowly reaches for the Colt, the Governor ducks his head slightly, leaving an extremely small target behind Erin. Moving unbearably slow, Rick takes the gun from his holster. He crouches to the floor, his finger dangling close to the trigger and itching to pull it. He holds the weapon mere inches off the floor but cannot bring himself to let it go.

"You have three seconds until I put a bullet in her ear. One…"

 _Fuck!_ He flips the safety on and slides it across the hardwood floor where it lands just to the left of Erin's boot.

"Thank you." The Governor slips one foot around her and kicks it to the side where it clatters against the bookcase. "I pride myself on keeping things orderly. I really don't want to make a mess in here. That's the only reason I haven't killed you yet. That, and it'll be fun to see the pain on your face when your lady and I… get acquainted. Tell me, does she like it rough?" He swivels his hips, driving his groin into her backside. "I hope not. That'll just take the fun right out of it."

Seething inside, Rick bites his tongue and thinks, _Keep talking asshole. There's gonna be a big mess in here. You can't hold a gun and your dick at the same time. When you make your move, so will I._

He watches the man lead Erin to the far edge of the desk, keeping her in front of him to shield any attack on Rick's part. He presses his chest into her back, formidably forcing her to lean forward as he reaches around her for a walkie talkie lying in the center of the ink blotter, its calendar kept meticulously current as it displays the month of June.

Keeping her captive with his body, his left hand holds the walkie to his mouth as his right hand keeps the gun trained on her head. His eyes continue to bore into Rick. "Johnson, I need you in my office. Now!"

A touch of static and then a deep voice responds with a brusque, "Yes, sir."

 _Shit!_ It's now or never.

Feeling extremely vulnerable where he stands in front of the doorway with his back exposed to the forthcoming henchman, Rick takes a slow step to his left as Erin is pulled back to full height. He meets her eyes. There is an anger there that would wither one of her fiercest highlander brethren, but above that, shining sure and true, is an undeniable fear glowing in her gaze. C _hrist I'm sorry, baby._

Her wide eyes narrow with purpose.

 _Oh God, she's gonna do something_. His pounding heart dips down to his belly and pops up again as her eyes scream _'Get him!'_ He gives her a barely perceptible nod telling her that he understands and then lifts his chin slightly. _But we have to do this together_.

She lifts her chin in return. _Together_.

"Okay, darling." The Governor reaches around to the snap of her jeans."Be a dear and take your pants off for me."

 _Alright, Red. Make it count._

The instant Erin throws her head back into a cruelly confident jaw, Rick is lunging forward to level the stunned man. Flying across the desk, he flinches at the deafening sound of a gunshot and senses its bullet whipping past his ear. He hits his target in a ferocious fume as Erin dives to the floor.

They hit the wall hard as Rick drives every ounce of his anger into the man's chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and the gun from his hand. He hears it rattle under the desk and reaches to grab it. With his fingers just inches from the grip, a sudden weight on his back pulls him away from the weapon.

As he wrestles with his enemy in a fight for the gun, trading hard blows and cheap shots, he notices Erin darting across the room. _Thank God! Get out of here, Red!_ He delivers a particularly vicious punch to the gut, and then receives a solid head-butt to his chin in return. Recovering quickly, he throws an uppercut into the man's jaw and lunges for the gun once more. And once again, he is pulled roughly away.

A strong arm curls across his throat as he lies belly-up on top of the Governor. Fighting the force that is trying to suffocate him, he looks up to see Erin standing over them with the Colt Python in her wavering grip, aimed directly at his exposed chest. _Jesus!_ He digs his heels in and throws his weight to the side in an effort to switch positions and give her a clear shot. They both end up lying on their sides, spooning in a macabre embrace.

"Let him go!" Erin's voice sounds strong enough, but Rick knows her well and hears the fearful tremble beneath her bravado.

The bastard tightens his grip on his windpipe.

She fires one shot into the wall above them, putting a small hole between the frames of the oaken tunnel. The governor startles but maintains his chokehold.

"Let him go or the next one will be in your leg, _I promise you_ ," she says, mocking his earlier speech.

"You don't have it in you, darling."

Rick feels her hesitation and meets her eyes. _You can do it!_ He throws his boot heel into the man's kneecap and rolls free from his grasp, gasping for air as the echo of another blast reverberates off the furniture.

His ears ring smartly as a painful scream fills the room in the aftermath of the blast. He turns to see the Governor holding his leg as a pool of blood forms on the hardwood floor beneath his thigh.

"You bitch!" Rolling on the floor, he reaches a hand toward Erin in a blind rage.

Rick charges forward and grabs onto the asshole's shoulders, heaving him backward and away from Erin. Clutching onto his back, he gets his left arm around the man's throat as he drives his heel into the man's bloody thigh again and again.

He pulls up hard to cut off his airway, and struggles to keep breathing himself as the weight of the man on his chest allows only small breaths to enter his lungs. His vision blurs in and out of focus on the framed oak trap above them. Feeling a narrow stick against the back of his shoulder, he turns his head to see Daryl's crossbow lying on the floor about two feet away. Several arrows stored in its quiver had spilled out, forming a trail of missiles that point toward the shaft lying beneath him. Maintaining his hold with his left arm, he reaches back with his right to grab the thin wood of one of the bolts. Getting it firmly in his grip, he brings it forward in an angry arc until its arrowhead is buried square in the right eye of Woodbury's malevolent leader.

The man howls in pain and rolls across the floor in agony. Scrambling to his feet, Rick grabs the gun from Erin and silences the Governor's voice forever.

Before he can process all that had transpired and what he'd just done, he hears the unmistakable sound of a rifle cocking and immediately looks toward the hallway. A moment later, a large beefy man in camouflage gear fills the doorframe. Rick doesn't hesitate.

A fifth shot in even fewer minutes echoes off the walls, hurtling the big man back into the corridor and clearing the doorway for their escape.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Rick adjusts the crossbow on his shoulder as he steps over a log in the dense forest between Harper Road and the central avenue of Woodbury. Walking at a brisk pace behind Erin, he watches her stumble slightly, catch herself with a curse, and then continue on. He glances behind him for the hundredth time in fifteen minutes, and again sees nothing but a haven of green leaves and tall tree trunks standing over a thick carpet of twig-covered dirt. He takes a deep breath and slows his pace. "Hey, let's take a break. I think we're far enough away now."

She stops, leans against a large boulder, releases a long deflated sigh and shrugs her shoulders beneath the weight of the katana on her back.

Catching up to her, he pulls her into his arms. "Come here." He breathes in the scent of her shampoo, her soap, and her distress, and hugs her tightly against his chest. When the adrenaline that had kept her moving forward gives in to her heart's need for solace, he feels her body trembling in a violent battle for self-control.

He leans back to see her face. "Are you okay?" he asks, peering into her eyes for the truth. The anger and fear he had seen in her eyes earlier is replaced with a sadness that cuts him to the bone.

Without uttering a sound, she nods her head yes. The fact that she seems to be at a loss for words tells him that no, she definitely is not okay. When she finally speaks, it is not at all what he had expected. "I'm sorry you had to do that," she tells him sadly.

"What? _You're_ sorry? Jesus Christ." He pulls her back into his arms. " _I'm_ so fucking sorry for letting that happen to you."

"You didn't let anything happen to me, Rick. You kept your promise and never left my side. I'm just sorry I missed my target."

"But you didn't miss. You nailed him in the leg."

"I was aiming for his balls."

He knows she is trying to be strong but she continues to tremble in his arms. "I never would have let him rape you. Please know that." He feels a hard ripple shiver up her spine. "I hate that he had his hands on you. That he touched you at all."

"He never touched _Me._ The me that only you know. He may have touched my body but he never got close to _Me_."

He can't keep the doubt from his expression as he gazes at her with enormous regret.

"Honestly, honey. I've been groped worse at work in the hospital. Remember that drunken rabbit on Easter? There are a lot of assholes out there and that crap just came with the job. This prick was just more obvious about it."

He hugs her tight again and takes comfort in her arms. "I love you."

Her reply is muffled against his neck and then she pulls back with a new conviction in her eyes. "Alright, let's get back to our family."

* * *

Nearing the slope of grass that leads up to the train tracks, Rick's heart jumps when he hears a gunshot resonate over the rise. He races up the hill to the sound of more weapons being discharged and his adrenaline kicks into overdrive once again. He can hear the shouts of battle before he actually sees the war being waged on the other side of the tracks separating the woods from Harper Road.

With the Colt cocked and ready to attack or defend, he crests the hill and crosses the rails that connect the many towns stretching across central Georgia. On the recently quiet street before him, he sees his friends in a frenzied battle against a small army of walkers. "Oh Christ," he breathes. "Stay here!" he tells Erin before racing forward with his weapon aimed at a scraggy male cadaver that is reaching for Glenn, who is focused on a pair of fearsome females advancing upon him. Rick fires the Python and the gaunt man goes down.

He rushes forward to finish off another set as T-Dog and Merle fight to protect the wounded and weary Daryl, who lies heavily against a thick tree trunk ten feet away on the side of the road. Reloading his gun, Rick sees Michonne wielding a long branch as if it were her sword, keeping the walkers at bay until Morgan can deliver the final blows with his knife.

A moment later, Michonne appears at his side with her katana in hand, slicing it into the necks of the walkers to his left. Rick glances over to see Erin standing directly in the shadow of the dark warrior, defenseless but for the sword of her protector before her. Scowling inwardly at the stubborn tenacity of his lover, he shifts to move into position at Michonne's side, forming a fortress around Erin as the war wages on.

When the last of the living dead are falling away and victory is in sight under the clear blue sky, Rick hears a disgruntled curse followed by an angry shout full of frustration and pain; annoyance at an empty gun chamber, and pain inflicted from the walker that had snuck in to bite and claw at his comrade's shoulder.

"Merle!"

Rick turns at the sound of Daryl's anguished call. He sees T-Dog helping Merle to fight off a quartet of walkers as blood drips down the redneck's ratty wife-beater tank top. "Oh shit," Rick breathes and then races toward the melee, taking out a female with long hair that may have been blonde or black in life, but now flows in a knotted mess of dark dirty ash.

"Merle!" Daryl hollers again, his voice breaking with profound heartache.

"You fucker! Ya ain't gettin' him!" Merle rages at the walker that T-Dog had just killed, pounding the tender flesh of his stump into the man's head whose brain is finally dark in death. "Take the rest of it you bastard!"

"Merle!" The one word carries more pain than a whole herd of walkers could have inflicted if tearing into Daryl's body. Tears flow freely down his bruised and battered cheeks as the war is won and his world comes crashing down.

"Get him outta here!" Merle yells, and then falls to the ground in an exhausted heap of emotional and physical misery.

"I won't leave you!" Daryl cries, breaking the hearts of everyone standing in silent vigil on Harper Road.

Merle coughs through a ragged breath. "It's over brother. Put me outta my misery like the good dog that I am."

"No!"

Rick moves to crouch at Daryl's side, believing he can do more for his friend at this point than he can for the elder Dixon.

He was wrong.

"Let's end this, sheriff." Merle groans weakly, breathing heavily and painfully arduous.

 _Ah, Christ._ "I'm so sorry, Daryl." Standing again, Rick takes a few steps forward and, doing his best to ignore the agonizing torment of his friend's open weeping, he aims his gun at Merle's face. He blinks once, twice, and then lowers the gun. He can't do it.

Merle lifts his head, decreasing the distance to the muzzle and simplifying Einstein's theory for Rick; alleviating the burden of deciding Now or never, Him or me, Wrong or right. "Take care of my little brother for me."

"Merle!" Daryl wails as the gunshot echoes off the tracks leading back to the motel in Lincoln Park.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-nine

Erin yawns into the pale sunrise, the product of another early morning start after an extremely trying day. Stepping out of the room with another armful of supplies, she stops short to narrowly avoid a collision with Kelly as they all prepare to leave the motel and continue on their journey east.

"Sorry, Erin. I just can't wait to get out of here."

"I know what you mean, Kel. I feel like if we sit still for too long, something evil is going to spin a web around us or something."

"Yeah, even the kids are antsy this morning," Kelly replies and then continues carrying her load out to the van.

Erin crosses toward the camper and stops short once again when a blue-eyed blur of black and white fuzz streaks across her path. She watches Nikki make a tail-wagging beeline for the pickup truck as Rick steps out of room number twelve with Daryl leaning heavily against him, favoring his left knee. The husky plants his big paws in front of the passenger door of Daryl's truck and looks back with a short demanding bark, letting his pack know that he is ready to roll.

"Wait for Glenn, Nik!" Daryl barks in return as he steps carefully down from the curb. "He's got the truck today, Hoss. And don't get in his way of steerin' or he'll hafta throw ya in the back!"

"You need help getting him up the stairs, Rick?" Dale asks as he places a red gas can back into the cargo storage on the side of the RV.

Daryl grunts at the question but Rick gives the man a gracious nod. "We'll manage, thanks."

"No room for the two of us on the steps as it is," Daryl grumbles and Erin winces in sympathy for her friend, whose wounds run much deeper than the bruises decorating his skin.

"I see he's even more chipper than usual this morning," Carol says quietly as she appears at Erin's side.

Erin grins at her friend's sarcasm, but her heart goes out to the dolefully troubled man. "Do you blame him?" she asks softly.

"No," Carol replies with a slight frown furrowing her brows. "Not at all," she adds gently, her voice thick with compassion as Rick and Daryl draw near. "Dale, I'm coming too so can you leave me a seat at the table in there?" she calls out.

"You got it, Carol," Dale responds as he climbs the stairs with a large duffel bag.

"Great," Daryl mutters in derision. "It's bad enough that yer stickin' me in the back of that eight-cylinder clinic, but now I can't even enjoy my own company. I don't need a damn babysitter."

Erin catches a quick glance from Rick as he replies, "No you don't, Daryl. But just let her ride along with you anyway."

"With all the different patients revolving through that bed this week, the camper really is like a mobile clinic," Kelly says, passing by Erin on her way back to her room.

 _So true_ Erin thinks as she watches Daryl grab onto the edge of the RV door and then hesitate before pulling himself up onto the first step. He turns his head to the left, peering beyond Rick to glance at the western horizon. Erin's throat tightens when he dips his chin in a brief salute, casting a final goodbye to his brother.

They had buried Merle under a big elm tree overlooking Harper Road. It was a quick ceremony with few words and fewer tears, spilled more for the bereft brother who sat numbly next to the grave with his quiet thoughts of forgiveness while grace and pity floated on the breeze around him.

Now, the bereaved brother wrestles the anger eating at his heart as he struggles to climb awkwardly, painfully, up the narrow stairs. When Rick is freed from Daryl's grip, he quickly disappears into the passenger door to help his friend from the other side.

As Daryl is pulled into the vehicle and out of sight, Erin puts a conciliatory arm around Carol. "Good luck in there."

"I don't know what the big deal is," Carol says, sounding somewhat dejected. "Two people can breathe the same air without actually stealing it from each other." She gives Erin a small grin packed with a humble apology and says, "At least he can't run away from me."

Erin releases a surprised laugh and smiles at the comment, knowing that her friend is referring to the time when Carol had adamantly avoided her for several days, keeping her distance after Erin had first confronted her about her abusive marriage. "No he can't." She gives Carol's shoulder a warm squeeze, forgiving her early resistance. "And a true friend never stays away."

Carol tilts her head close and Erin rests her temple against the woman's short gray hair, recognizing the gesture as the sincere thanks it is meant to be; gratitude for caring enough about a stranger in need, and tremendous appreciation for not giving up on that stranger.

Daryl may not need a protector in the same sense that Carol did, but he does need a friend. And it's easy to see that Carol can relate to the introverted hunter better than anyone else in their group. Their hearts are pierced with the same piece of fractured glass that reflects a broken spirit. But maybe they can smooth out the rough edges in each other to create a clear pane of trust and tenderness. If only he'll give her the chance. Then maybe his heart will heal as quickly as the bruises.

Ten minutes later Erin settles into the front seat of the van and watches Carol climb into the camper. Daryl may lay in the sole fellowship of his desolate heart, but he will not be alone. "Alright, buckle up now," Erin tells the two kids occupying the seats behind her as Rick rounds the bumper to take his place behind the wheel.

"Do I have to?" Carl complains, his voice matching the mood he's been shrouded in all morning. While Sophia and Duane had been anxious and chatty, Carl had been quiet, disheartened.

Concerned, Erin turns in her seat to face him. She gives him a smile with a playful poke at his leg, hoping to bring him out of the funk he'd woken up in. "You know you have to buckle up, honey."

"Erin, Michonne is over the line and she's touching me!" Amy calls out from the rear bench in legendary family vacation fashion, eliciting a peal of giggles and brightening the atmosphere tremendously.

"Are we there yet?" Michonne whines in a tag-team effort and more laughter erupts inside the van.

The sound is infectious and Erin welcomes it wholeheartedly after all they've suffered the last few days. Nothing eases the weight of the woeful more than a good laugh shared with a friend. She smiles brightly at Rick as he climbs into his seat across the console. "Don't ask," she says in response to the questioning look he gives her as he fits the key into the ignition.

"Enough said," he replies with a surrendering glance. "We all set in here?"

"Yeah," Erin answers and turns her chin slightly. "As long as Michonne keeps her hands to herself back there."

Carl lets out a raucous cackle and more laughter ensues, the convoy of hilarity picking up speed once again.

"That's it," Michonne cries. "I'm riding in the pickup with Glenn and Nikki!"

Among all the voices chortling in merriment Erin hears Rick release a deep chuckle of his own, infected by the sweet silliness ringing around him. Smiling, he shakes his head in joyful confusion as he pulls out of the parking lot, leaving behind the sleepy town of Lincoln Park and the sorrowful memories lying in the shadows beyond it.

* * *

Steering around an overturned U-Haul on Waymanville Road, Rick squints into the rising sun as the voices of his passengers quietly turn inward, each settling in for another long stretch on the not-so open road. It was good to hear them laughing, even if he didn't know what they were laughing at. It didn't matter. Just to know that they are still capable of it means that there is still a life worth fighting for.

He glances at Erin and notices her looking into the side-view mirror, observing the road behind them. Or more likely staring at the RV and wondering how Daryl is doing back there. And Carol too for that matter. He narrows his eyes at his lover as he recalls the moment when Carol had called out to Dale. "Did you tell Carol to ride in the camper?"

"No, she did that on her own," Erin replies, looking back at him. "And it was very nice of her to offer."

"Yes, it was. As long as it wasn't an attempt at matchmaking on your part."

"Of course not. But now that you mention it," she says with a grin that is slightly _too_ innocent. "They could be very good for each other."

"Stay out of it, Red."

"I'm not in it," she says defensively. "But I am glad he has you, Rick. He needs you, honey, more than anyone else."

He reaches over and squeezes her hand, thinking of his quiet friend and the surprisingly strong bond that has developed between them in such a short time. Though Shane had been like a brother, their views and ideals had differed greatly and it wasn't always an easy relationship. While there was usually a degree of love and trust, there wasn't always honor and devotion. With Daryl, they'd developed a tremendous respect between them and a true appreciation for each other that makes their relationship flow effortlessly.

There's no doubt that Shane's death had left a sizable hole in Rick's heart, but maybe Daryl had a foot in the space even before Shane had taken off for Fort Benning. Daryl has had his back – and those of his loved ones – since the very beginning, no matter what. Night or day, thick or thin, he's been right there for him. No fuss, no furor – just there to protect his blind side. Maybe that's the mark of a true brother. He gives Erin an honest nod. "Yeah. I'm here for him."

Her lashes lower slightly as she tilts her chin, looking back at him with keen eyes that seem to be concentrating on his thoughts and reading them as he himself is thinking them. "And maybe you need him just as much."

He nods slowly in agreement, coming to accept that fact as she lifts his hand to her mouth and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles. _Maybe I do._

* * *

As underdogs in a race against the setting sun, the day moves quickly as they struggle to sprint along back roads clogged with one obstruction after another. They are finally forced to stop in Pineview, a small town southeast of Macon.

The Twin Pine Inn, an abandoned Bed and Breakfast most likely named for the two towering trees that welcome you up the long winding driveway, sits proudly at the top of a good-sized front lawn. Its roof of brown shingles protects the large beige structure beneath it as the hunter green shutters keep the secrets of its visitors.

After years of honeymooners and happy families to occupy the rooms, and then weeks upon weeks of a silence not strong enough to stir the dust, tonight the beds will hold a band of refugees that carry enough pain to make the shutters look away in respectful sympathy.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N Thanks for sticking with me on this little side trip in the Walking Dead universe. After the heaviness of the last couple of chapters, here is a lighter one for you to enjoy. Please let me know what you think. (Bluecrush - you are amazing and I am forever grateful!).**

* * *

Chapter Forty

After the grounds and entire house of the Twin Pine Inn are proven empty, Erin follows Rick up the beautiful grand staircase, its rosewood railing still standing honorably and impressive despite the absence of a daily dust rag. Though she admires the view of his ass as they climb each step, she doesn't like the way that his shoulders seem to be drooping under the weight of the world that he insists on carrying upon them. Merle's death just added another few ounces to that load. He may not be grieving the loss of that particular man - though knowing him he is probably carrying a tinge of guilt for losing Daryl's brother – but more than any other survivor, Rick seems to be mourning the loss of civilization and humanity itself.

He'd been unusually quiet in the car all afternoon, withdrawing further and further into himself with every roadblock they had faced. A curse, a muttering about Woodbury or a grumble about the murdering of society, and then he'd stay quiet until the next barricade rose up in front of them.

She couldn't wait to get him off the road, away from his thoughts and into a soft bed, God-willing. When they had seen the sign for the bed and breakfast sitting on the outskirts of Pineview, she was extremely happy and then tremendously relieved to find it walker-free.

Now, as everyone retreats to their chosen room, she follows him into a lovely bedroom on the third floor and sits down to remove her boots, the wicker bench waking with a squeak after its time of quiet solitude. He closes the door and then the queen-sized bed at her back groans slightly when he drops a duffel bag onto the pretty white quilt of patchwork red and blues. She sees the exhaustion in his eyes when he turns to place the lantern on the mantle of a small fireplace. From its perch, the soft light casts long shadows onto pale gold walls and cherry wood furniture.

He opens a large window that looks upon the overgrown lawn of the spacious inn. The evening chirp of crickets echoes across the neglected flower gardens and drifts into the quiet room. Shifting her weight upon the seat after removing her other boot, the wicker squeals again as T-Dog's voice cuts into the cricket song.

Rising quickly, Erin follows Rick across the green and gold area rug toward the small bay window that overlooks the front of the inn. Her breath catches when she sees their sentinel holding a rifle aimed across the parking lot. With the sun hiding just below the horizon, in the hazy light of dusk she sees a husky man who appears to be holding a woman in his arms.

"Please help us!"

Instinct kicks in and she reacts with the swiftness of an emergency responder. Years of training combined with her own generous spirit has her rushing toward the door without waiting to hear T-Dog's reply.

She twists the doorknob and pulls it inward only to have it pushed back with a strong stubborn force. Stunned, she turns to the man breathing irritably down her neck. "Rick!"

"What the hell are you doing?" he growls, sounding more than a little aggravated.

"I'm going to help them! What the hell are _you_ doing?" she snaps.

"Keeping you safe!"

"She's hurt and I can help them!"

"We don't know that!"

"Rick!"

"We just pulled the same stunt ourselves for Christ's sake!"

His words carry enough weight to stall her fuming engine. He has a point. She swallows a hostile retort and shifts gears into neutral. "We had a reason to lie," she says calmly. "They don't." Seeing the dread and distrust in his eyes, she lays her palm against his cheek. "Not everyone out there is bad news, honey. She needs my help." Erin turns to pull on the door handle again but it doesn't budge. His strong stubborn hand refuses to move and her strength, even when fortified with annoyance, is no match for his. "Ugh!"

"You're not going out there, Red."

"Fine!" His attitude stokes the embers of her anger and her outrage burns hot once again. " _We'll_ go out there. So let go of the fucking door so _We_ can go help these people!" She sees the frustration that had held him in its grip all afternoon turn to pure indignation.

"No. _I'm_ going out there while you sit your ass on the bed and wait for me to come back!"

"The hell I will! I'm trained to help people, Rick. I can't do that if my _daddy_ sends me to my room!" she argues, her words drenched in bitter sarcasm. His intentions may be honorable in wanting to keep her from harm, but she refuses to be treated like a child.

"God damn it, Red!" He moves quicker than she'd ever thought he could. In a matter of seconds, with a flurry of flailing arms and colorful curses, she is hauled over his shoulder, thrown onto the bed and handcuffed to the wrought iron headboard.

"You bastard!" Her cries of angry protest are cut off by the slamming of the door.

For over thirty minutes she waits. She seethes. She rattles the cuffs locking both of her hands behind her head and curses the blasted man who owns her heart. The sweltering stuffiness of the closed up room doesn't help the rage boiling her bloodstream. Restless and hot, she kicks the duffel over the edge and then works her toes to push the socks off of her feet, scratching a layer of skin off of her ankle in the process. _Fuck!_ She doesn't remember ever being this angry in her life. _I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill him dead._

When she finally hears the doorknob rattling, her blood pressure is at an all-time high. He crosses the threshold, straight into her line of fire. "Get these fucking things off of me!" she explodes. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"

"I'm the man who's gonna keep you safe!" he yells, clearly enraged himself.

"You son of a bitch! You had no right!" She twists her body in an attempt to kick at him when he sits on the bed at her hip.

Ignoring her tirade - and the knee pounding into his back, he bends over to leisurely remove his boots as if he'd had no pressing business to attend to, such as freeing his lover from her imprisonment.

"Rick!" His air of indifference grates on her last nerve. _Asshole!_

He sits up and she sees him take a deep, steadying breath to repair his own frayed nerves. "If you'll calm down, I'll fill you in on Eugene and Tara."

"Who the f- ?!" The thought of the newcomers immediately distracts her from her own predicament. "Oh. That's the couple out there?" she asks as he shifts to face her. "How is she? Does she need me?"

"Yes, and no she doesn't need you. She just sprained her ankle."

"Okay. So let me go to her."

"The only thing she needs is an icepack, which we already gave her," he replies.

Doing a quick mental run through of treatment for this particular injury, she realizes that there really isn't anything else she can do for the woman. But she can prove her point to the man sitting beside her. "See, I told you they weren't a threat."

"We didn't know, Erin. I had to keep you safe."

"Fine, I'm safe," she says shortly. "Where are they now?"

"With Morgan and Michonne."

"Alright, get these things off of me."

"Not until you promise that you'll listen to me from now on," he says, laying a warm hand on her belly.

"When you don't get in my way of helping people, yes I will listen to you," she responds brusquely.

"That's not how this works, honey." His words are spoken tenderly but she is still too irritated to let them thaw her rage."You have to let me assess the situation first, and if I don't-,"

"I'm not a child, Rick!" She cuts him off, her Scottish blood bristling with anger once again.

"No, you certainly aren't." Something changes in his expression; a very subtle, slight gleam in his darkening eyes. She knows that look well. And she is helpless against that heated gaze.

 _Crap._

"Don't look at me like that, I'm mad at you!"

"I know." His fingers slip under her tee shirt to caress the soft skin of her belly. "You're adorable when you're mad."

"Get these things off of me, you ass!" she snarls, rattling the handcuffs against the metalwork of the headboard.

He ignores her indignant demand. "And sexy as hell too. Did you know that your cheeks get as rosy as your nipples?"

He lifts her dark gray tee shirt until it lies just above her chest and then pulls the satiny cup of her bra down below her bosom, forcing the swell upward as the material bites gently into her flesh.

An involuntary moan escapes her throat and she bucks beneath him as he skims a finger over the tip of her breast and dips his mouth to her navel."Get off me, damn it!" She chokes back a chuckle and holds tight to her exasperation. "We're not doing this, Rick!"

"No?" Shifting over her, he flicks the tip of his tongue across her nipple until it stretches to a point. "Are you sure about that?" he asks softly, slipping a hand inside the hem of her yoga pants and slowly inserting a finger deep between her folds.

Her traitorous little flutter weeps with joy.

"You bastard," she murmurs, too aroused to put any fury behind the words. "Damn you," she moans, damning the betrayal of her own body even more than the man himself.

Pulling his hand from her body, he lifts it to his mouth and sucks her moisture from his finger. "Don't tell me you don't want this as much as I do, Red."

She wants to tell him no. She wants to tell him to go to hell. But like a junkie strung out on heroin, she can't deny her body the one thing that it craves above all else; Rick Grimes. _Son of a bitch._ He is her drug and she is completely addicted to him. "Please, Rick." She squirms beneath him, fury and fire in a war between pride and passion.

"Please what, baby?" He rubs a warm palm over her taut belly, his fingers barely brushing the underside of her breasts and then dipping just slightly inside of her pants, caught somewhere between pleasing her and teasing her.

Passion wins the battle over pride and she groans in frustrated arousal. "Love me."

"If you insist." He crushes her mouth with a burning kiss as he shifts to lie between her thighs.

She opens her mouth for his insistent tongue and draws him inside. Though her pheromones have taken command of her senses, a tiny spark of anger still burns hotly in her spine. She bites his tongue.

"Unn!" he groans but she quickly soothes him, caressing his tongue with her own and stroking the inside of his mouth before he can break the kiss. When he tilts his head to deepen their connection, he steals her breath with a furor that is screaming for control.

Her chest is heaving when he finally relinquishes her mouth for a lungful of air.

Breathing deeply, she watches him as he stands to pull his white tee shirt over his head and toss it to the floor. She squirms under his lustful gaze as he crawls over her on the bed, holding himself just inches from her trembling body. Pulling futilely against the handcuffs, she wraps her legs around his thighs in an effort to pull him closer. "Damn it, Rick. Don't make me beg," she says just short of a whine, hating the tinge of desperation in her voice. Hating him for putting it there. And for making her feel so good when she wants to hit him so bad.

He lowers his head slowly and she lifts her mouth to meet him. Opening her lips to welcome his return, she is startled when his teeth suddenly clamp down on her bottom lip. She squeals in surprise more than in pain and curses him to the Gods as he unceremoniously yanks her yoga pants down off of her legs. Her panties follow in a slow, deliberate slink that makes every nerve ending moan his name in frustrated anticipation; retribution for the unkindness that had rolled off of her tongue. Finally, he spreads her thighs wide and drops his mouth to her opening.

"Sweet baby Jesus," she breathes, gripping the cold metal of the bedframe behind her head.

His tongue dips, swirls and dives, searching for and finding the most sensitive parts of her sex. She writhes beneath his mouth, moaning deeply and then inhaling sharply when he flicks across the tightest bundle of nerves at her clit and gently traps the slickness between his lips.

With his strong hands stroking her thighs as his tongue dances over and inside her, she soars over the edge into a maelstrom of sensuous love and burning lust.

Her heart is beating profusely when he rises from the bed. She watches him quickly loosen his belt and blue jeans and then push them just low enough to free his erection. Though her legs are still limp and languid, she emits a greedy groan as he positions himself above her.

"Are you okay, honey?" he asks softly after pressing his lips to hers for a quick but tender kiss.

"Oh, yeah." She grins, both blissfully relaxed and utterly aroused as she feels the tip of his cock at her opening. His eyes shine warm and wicked as he gazes down at her.

"Good!" The sweetly acidic word bites the air between them as he buries himself in one powerful thrust that steals her breath, arches her back, and rattles her soul.

Helpless to hold him in the way that her fingers are burning to touch him, she wraps her legs tight around his hips and takes him in, again and again and again.

When he finally collapses on top of her as his seed swims homeward, her heaving chest aches for oxygen as her second orgasm shimmies down to her toes.

"God, I love you, Red," he says into her neck.

"Love you back." She sucks in some much needed air before adding through several struggling breaths, "Now… can you please… get the key… to get me out of these."

He mumbles something into her hair that her sex-addled brain can't decipher.

"What?"

He shifts his head and repeats himself more clearly. "You don't need a key."

"What do you mean, honey? Come on, get these off of me."

He lifts his head and looks down at her, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Sweetheart, you never needed a key." Reaching over her head, he presses something on the cuff and she hears a click that opens the shackles binding her to the bed frame.

"What the hell, Rick?!" she fumes as she lowers her arms.

He dangles the toy handcuffs in front of her in an infuriatingly teasing manner. "I found these the other day on the run with Daryl. You were never really locked in here, honey."

With her blood boiling again – and not in the good, fun way that heats her flutter – she wants to smack the smile from his gorgeous face. "You son of a bitch!" She settles for attacking his ribs with angry jabs of her small fists.

"Ow!" The laughter bubbling from his chest makes her even more furious, and when he captures her hands and easily pins them above her head, she hates him almost as much as she loves him, especially when - completely against her will - he makes her laugh.

"Stop!" she cries, trying to contain the deep chuckles that erupt from her chest as he blows wet strawberries against her throat.

"Not until you apologize for calling me a bastard and an S.O.B. and all the really nasty ones that you didn't say out loud."

"Never!" she laughs and drops her chin defensively when he resumes his attack on her neck.

When he leans back again, he pulls her hand down to his mouth and presses a kiss to her fist. "You drive me crazy, woman," he says softly. "You know that?"

She smiles up at his tender expression. "Yeah," she breathes. "Right back atcha sheriff."

"And if you ever force me to do that again, it won't be the toy cuffs next time."

Her flutter grins fervently as the battle of wills continues…


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter Forty-one

Erin steps through the front door and out onto the wide wraparound porch that embraces three sides of the charming Twin Pine Inn. The wind stirs the hem of her big blue Emory tee-shirt that hangs loosely over her Capri jeans. The rising sun is making a valiant effort to brighten the day, but the thickening clouds above the treetops reveal only scattered patches of blue sky here and there. Erin lets the screen door close behind her with a strong draft against her bare calves. She carries her treasures to the cluster of Adirondack chairs rocking gently at the end of the porch, Sophia's chair squeaking the loudest as she puts more of an effort into her sway than Carol or Tara.

Erin had liked Tara immediately. With her brown hair pulled back into a youthful ponytail she appeared younger than she probably was, but she had caring eyes and an honest face and Erin trusted her completely. Her companion was a little harder to peg but he'd seemed harmless enough, especially when Tara looked at him with such fondness. Her expression was not one of a romantic love, but a deep affection just the same. And that made it easy to believe that Eugene was a decent guy. He was also an extremely bright man according to the young woman. Listening to him speak, that wasn't hard to believe either.

With much of her life lived inside the world of medicine, Erin had met many people over the years who were highly intelligent - and extraordinarily quirky. This man was no exception. With a plump frame held in a rigid posture, humorless eyes and a timid chin, the only part of him that moved free and easy was the long dark hair hanging loosely down his nape, at complete odds with the short cropped strands covering the rest of his skull. And though his speech is obviously percolated through a sharp mind, his words seem to be forced upon the air in a short staccato of clipped sounds; blunt, almost angry, and strangely monotonous. But Erin did detect a strong sense of compassion behind his serious gaze, despite the permanent pout of his expression.

"Okay, Tara, these aren't as good as crutches but they should help you get around a little." Erin lowers her hands until the rubber tips of the three canes she'd found are resting against the wooden deck. Reaching her left hand forward, she offers Tara two canes; one powder blue and the other a glittering silver. Both are much more feminine than the shiny black one in her other hand. "Why don't you take these two and we'll give the black one to Daryl in case his knee gives him trouble again."

"Yeah, he doesn't seem like the glittery type to me." Tara reaches out to take the two canes and then shifts in her seat to settle her injured foot more comfortably on the low wicker table in front of her. "Thanks, Erin."

"No problem. Just keep your foot elevated as much as possible today." Erin hooks the third cane over the railing and then perches herself right next to it, worrying that the shiny staff will be needed again soon.

Though Daryl was walking on his own today and insisting that his knee was much better, Erin still noticed the limp and occasional wince from a particularly painful step as he moved around the house this morning. She knew he was determined to ride the motorcycle out of here, but he wasn't doing a great job of masking his discomfort.

When T-Dog had found the portable gas generator behind the inn and suggested that they dump the bike to make room for it in the pickup truck, Daryl had immediately declared he was fit to ride. He then mumbled something about not leaving his brother's bike as long as he was still breathing and hell wasn't serving Slurpee's. Erin didn't have the heart to fight him on it knowing what his brother meant to him, so she'd bitten her tongue and prayed that his knee held up long enough to get them to Savannah. That is if they'd ever make it out of Pineview.

While Rick and Morgan work at getting a bedroom door off its hinges to use as a ramp for the generator, Dale and Glenn are fiddling with the engine of the old Winnebago. Upon driving it ten feet forward to clear the tailgate of the pickup, it had belched and squealed and spit a stream of smoke through its grill.

Now, Erin hears Duane pose another question to Dale about the inner workings of the large engine. His voice is energetic and inquisitive during his lesson in automotive mechanics, showing much more exuberance than the quiet expression on Carl's face as he examines the sleek frame of the '70 Triumph chopper with Daryl. The boy nods often but remains quiet, occasionally adjusting the sheriff's hat on his head as Daryl points to the silver pipes beneath the fuel tank.

A clattering of footsteps descending on hardwood floors echoes out of the house. A hinge squeaks and Erin watches Eugene emerge and then turn to hold the door open for the men at his back. Hefting one end of a long white door with four rectangles etched into the wood, Rick leads Morgan across the porch and down toward the truck. Eugene closes the door behind them with a calculated hand, methodically securing it in its frame before following the others with a coil of rope in his grip.

"What's his story?"

A voice, hoarse from a lingering cold that refuses to release its victim, floats up from the other side of the railing at Erin's back. She cranes her neck to see Michonne and Kelly approach the splintering stairs after waiting for the white door to pass them by.

"I thought I heard him say something to Amy about the CDC." The dark woman coughs into her shoulder and then looks at Tara. "Did he work there?"

Tara emits a soft sigh as she slightly rolls her eyes. "No, but I think he wished he did. His cousin worked there and he talks about him a lot."

"He does seem very smart though," Kelly says. "What did he do?"

"Oh he's real smart. He was a high school science teacher. When he first joined our group, he told us that he was a scientist at the CDC. I think he wanted to sound more useful so we would let him stay. And he probably thought that would impress the young ladies too," she adds in a softer mumble aimed at the ground. She looks back up to meet Erin's gaze. "But after a few days he admitted that he was a science teacher."

"So he's a liar and a letch?" Carol asks with a strong hint of suspicion.

Tara nods her head with a gentle smirk that begs for forgiveness. "Sort of, but he's harmless, I swear," she adds quickly. "You just have to get used to him. I think he has Asperger's or one of those conditions with all the quirks. His social skills have a lot to be desired, but he's really a good guy. He's been looking out for me since the day we met and he's saved my life more than once."

And in this world, Erin knows that that's the stick that people are measured against. Social skills are fine and can make life much more bearable, but at the end of the day - they can't do much to protect you. When Eugene had announced earlier that he _'wasn't sleeping with Tara on account of her being a lesbian'_ , Erin had thought it was an odd way of ingratiating himself to the group. But then he'd turned around and asked Rick what he could do to help us.

"It's okay, Tara," Erin tells her. "We aren't going to send you two away. Who knows, a scientist may come in handy on our way to the coast." She smiles at the latest edition to their group, feeling confident in the young woman gazing back at her.

"Thank you." Tara's eyes shimmer with emotion. "God, you have no idea how much we appreciate it."

Erin gives her a sympathetic look and nods her head slowly. "Yeah. We do." Recalling the awful people who lived in Woodbury, she thinks, _Thank God we found you before somebody else did._

Michonne clears her throat. "Is there anything else we should know about your friend?" Her tone is half-joking but Erin knows she is being completely serious.

"No. Well… other than the fact that he says we're all infected with the virus." The words are spoken lightly, almost nonchalantly, but they have a great impact on the women in her company.

"What?!" Amy asks as she steps out of a side door with T-Dog, the screen door slamming behind them on a squeaky spring. "What do you mean infected?"

Though her face is still slightly swollen and broken blood vessels paint much of her cheek a purplish yellow, the alarm in her expression is clear.

Erin sits up straighter on the railing. "How can we all be infected, Tara?" The nurse in her would like to know how that could be possible from a medical standpoint, but the terrified survivor in her can't keep the edge of accusation from her voice. She shakes her head slightly, hoping to clear it enough to absorb the answer to the million dollar question.

"I'm not sure _how_ ," Tara responds. "But he says the virus is already inside us. All of us." She turns to look at each of their faces and then stops to focus on something beyond Erin. "Right Eugene?"

Erin turns as Rick and Eugene climb the stairs heading for the front door. She watches the mullet-man reach the platform and turn stiffly toward their gathering. "I'm sorry, my attention was otherwise engaged. Can you please repeat the question?"

"You said that we all carry the virus. That it's in all of us already. Right?"

"That is correct."

"What? How?" Several astonished voices echo the same sentiment, drawing the attention of all the mechanics who immediately stride over toward the railing of the quickly crowding terrace.

"The Center for Disease Cont-"

Michonne cuts him off mid-monotone-sentence. "Tara just told us that you didn't really work at the CDC, so why don't you leave them out of it."

"No, I did not. But my cousin Edwin was employed there. He informed me that we were all infected whether bitten or not." A flicker of sadness softens his gaze. "And then he… opted out."

Erin notices Rick share a glance with T-Dog and Morgan while Glenn, Daryl and Dale all look conspiratorially between each other. "Rick?" she calls softly, her tone begging for an answer. When he turns to her, she sees a strange glimmer in his eyes. Guilt? Admission? No, not a confession exactly. More like… acceptance. "Oh my God, it's true. And you knew!"

A dozen heads swing in unison from Eugene to Erin to Rick.

"What? When did you know? How could you know? You all knew?" The women's voices blend and bounce off of each other, ricocheting against the glass panes of the windows looking into a spacious dining room. The men shift nervously on their feet as they stare at the ground.

"Alright, hold on." Rick raises an arm to quiet the group but doesn't look away from Erin. The voices settle into a few murmurs and then eventually fall silent. He hesitates, guilt now floating freely in his eyes.

Though she is angry at the dishonesty, Erin also feels sorry for him. But anger wins again and her voice is harder than intended. "Why didn't you tell us, Rick?"

"Because I didn't know, honey. Not for sure."

"But you suspected it though?" Kelly asks, also sounding highly irritated. "Why?"

"Jacqui." A collective sigh whispers across the porch as their dear friend is remembered. Rick hesitates for a moment with a quick glance at Amy. Looking back at his sister, he swallows hard and says, "When we were digging the grave, she came back. Her body did anyway."

"But she was never bit," Amy says numbly.

"No," Rick replies gently. "We didn't see any marks on her."

Carol, now standing, glances at several of the men before landing back on the sheriff, directing her question specifically to him."Why didn't you tell us?"

Again, Rick hesitates.

"We should've said something, man," T-Dog mumbles as he shakes his head wearily and settles into a wicker chair. "I told you guys, we should've said something."

Voices are raised once again, both male and female in a heated discussion about control and moral responsibility.

"Alright enough!" Erin yells, merging her voice with Rick's as he hollers the same two words. Surprising each other as much as the group, they share a tender look as their friends quiet down once more. She moves to stand at his side and takes his hand in both of hers, calling a truce. His fingers tighten against hers and then she watches him scan the faces of his flock.

"Listen," he says, voice raised to address them all. "Maybe we should've told you, but it wouldn't have changed anything and I didn't want everyone more upset than you already were. I'm sorry." He looks back at Erin with a remorseful shrug, his eyes downright rueful and hopelessly sad. "But honestly, Red, I really didn't think it could be true."

Erin's heart aches for him and then it drops, suddenly realizing the terrifying truth as his words sink in; she and all of her loved ones are already carrying the deadly virus inside of them. _Sweet baby Jesus._ She lays her palm against his cheek, comforting herself as much as him. "Okay. So now we know."

"Now we know." He tilts his chin against her hand. "And we'll deal with it when we have to."

"And no more secrets!" Carol calls out, inciting a chorus of supportive appeals.

"No more secrets," Rick agrees.

"Good." Erin exhales a shaky breath and turns to search the crowd for Dale. "Now if we can just get the camper going, maybe we can actually get somewhere."

* * *

Three hours and a roll of duct tape later, they are ready to leave the Twin Pine Inn. Erin walks through the kitchen and out the side door, finding Kelly deep in conversation with Eugene on the other side of a chessboard. "I think we're ready to go, Kelly."

"Now? Damn, when I'm finally close to winning one."

"Maybe Eugene can take it in the camper so you can play again later."

"Yeah, but I'll never get this close again."

"You are not as close as you think, Kelly," Eugene says as Kelly leans over the board, scrutinizing her queen and its remaining kingdom. "But if it will ensure your happiness, I will memorize and duplicate this board in order to resume this particular contest."

Erin watches him tilt his chin slightly as he gazes down at Kelly. His expression softens and though his mouth barely curves at all, she can see the tender smile in his eyes. _Oh, so that's the guy that Tara was talking about!_

"Alright, Eugene. We'll continue this game in Savannah." Kelly pushes her chair back and rises to her feet. "You're going down, my friend." The good-natured goading elicits a broad smile from her challenger, transforming his face completely.

Five minutes later, Erin walks with Kelly out to the van as cars are filled and doors are closed. The midday sun is forced to float above a sea of solid gray as a breeze blows steadily across the grounds of the sleepy resort. "Hey maybe Amy could ride in the camper with Tara, and your boyfriend can ride in here with you," Erin teases as she pulls a thick strand of flying auburn away from her face.

"You think she'd switch with him?"

The excitement in Kelly's voice surprises her, but confirms exactly what Erin had suspected. "Wow, you really do like him, don't you?"

"I don't know," Kelly says with a casualness that seems just a little too forced. "There's something about him. He's kind of innocent, you know? Not like most guys who truly believe they are God's gift to us women. He's different."

"I'm sure he's very sweet." Erin gives her friend an encouraging smile.

"And I've dated enough macho guys that are all brawn and no brains. It might be nice to go out with a guy who is not just a pretty face," Kelly says somewhat defensively.

"Yeah, and just think of all that hair you can run your fingers through." Erin closes her mouth on the laughter that is trying to surge from her chest as Kelly grins in good spirit.

"Hey, you can't talk. You think Rick is cute and he's just gross!"

This time Erin lets her laughter explode. "Spoken like a true sister."

"You're just jealous because my brother doesn't have a sexy mullet."

Erin smiles at the joy on her friend's face. "Yeah, that's it exactly," she says dryly, still chuckling as they open the doors to the van.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-two

A cardboard box tumbles clumsily but swift across the two lane span of Cannonville Road, a nineteen mile stretch cutting through the farmland and forests of Wilcox County. Rick grips the wheel tight, startled at the sudden appearance of the object that had seemed to come out of nowhere.

"The wind's picking up," Erin says from her seat next to him. "We're in for a good storm tonight, aren't we?"

"Oh yeah." Rick looks up toward the sky, still a pallid, featureless gray but getting darker with every mile. "And we're heading right toward it. Hopefully it'll hold off until we can get to the coast, but we still have a lot of ground to cover."

"Dad?"

Rick glances up at the rearview mirror. "Yeah, bud?"

"I have to go."

"Already? We've haven't even been on the road for an hour."

"I know, but I have to go again. Can we stop?"

"Alright, just hang on."

Rick taps twice on the horn to alert the motorcycle driver ahead of him and eases the van to a stop. He gets out of the vehicle and raises a hand to Daryl with one finger pointed upward. Four cars back, he sees Michonne step out of Morgan's Honda and arch her back with her arms stretched high above her head. "Come on, Carl."

Rick follows his son up a grassy slope toward a long white fence surrounding a wheat field on the cusp of Abbeville. The tips of the tan stalks sway this way and that, forced to dance with the wind in a sea of shimmering gold.

When Carl stops at the top where the ground levels out before the fence, Rick's boots are still angled upward. With all of his weight on his back leg now, he shifts his foot slightly to secure a better hold against the earth as he stands at eye level with his son. He watches Carl stare up at the sky where a pair of bluebirds race above the field spread out before them.

"Is it really up there, Dad?"

"What?"

"Heaven."

"Sure it is."

"How do you know?"

"Well, I guess I don't know for sure. I just believe that it's up there."

"I used to believe in Santa Claus. He turned out to be a lie."

"Uh, yeah." Rick chuckles uncomfortably for a moment as Carl spears him with a slim glare of accusation. A fissure of guilt tickles the edge of his heart. "Well that's more of a game than a lie, Carl. It's just a tradition that parents do to make the little kids happy. It's innocent fun."

"So how do you know that heaven isn't a lie too? Maybe it's just a bigger joke on everyone. How do you know it's real?"

Rick runs a hand through his hair and sighs heavily, thinking that they probably should've taken him to church more. They had gone pretty regularly when Carl was an infant, a small Presbyterian church that Lori had found. She'd thought it was important and he was just so thankful for his healthy boy that he didn't mind spending a couple of hours with the Lord on the Sunday mornings he wasn't working.

They went for a while, week after week, month after month, singing the hymns and standing in honor of the gospel. Until their little bundle of joy found his own voice and legs, and then it just became too much of a hassle to keep him quietly entertained while listening to the minister drone on. As the years passed, they'd slept in on lazy Sunday's and congregated only twice a year at the First Presbyterian church on Cherokee Avenue; dusting off their Sunday best for the obligatory Christmas Eve and Easter services. If only they had spent a little more time there. Then maybe his son wouldn't be eyeing him now with such skepticism. "I don't know if it's real, Carl. But it is comforting to _believe_ that there's a special place for us to go when we leave this world."

"But what if it turns out that there isn't? Maybe this is it and when you die you just stop… being."

 _When did my boy get so philosophical?_ "Well, maybe that's true. But either way, we have to make the most of our time here. Never give up living, no matter how hard you have to fight for it."

Carl glances from Rick to the sky and then back to his Dad again. "I know mom isn't… she isn't going to find me," he says after seeming to form his thoughts with some difficulty. "She's with other people now." He nods his head with forced confidence and Rick knows that his son is fighting hard to keep the truth from creeping in.

It's one thing to accept that Santa isn't real. It's another to acknowledge the fact that you will never see your mother again. So if Carl wants to think that his mom is still chipping away at life in a distant town, what's so bad about letting him be comforted by that illusion? Rick can't crush his boy's dream any more than he can give him false hope. He says nothing at all.

He looks at his son as several heartbeats stretch between them. Carl moves his head slightly, following the path of the birds as they soar and sink and soar again. Rick watches his son blink at the sky with a thoughtful expression, a pensive look that means he's got more on his mind. But the silence continues to stretch, filled with uncertainty. Inhaling a curious breath, Rick opens his mouth to ask and then closes it quickly when Carl's voice echoes off the wooden rails.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Carl."

Carl blinks away the emotion in his eyes but Rick still sees the slight quiver in his lip when he looks back to meet his gaze. "Is Erin going to divorce you?"

"What? No! Why are you asking that?"

"I heard her yell at you last night. And she was mad this morning too," Carl says with a face full of misery. "Mom used to yell at you and then you got divorced."

Rick's heart twists into a tight braid of regret. "Oh, buddy. I know you love Erin. Right?"

Carl nods, clearly fighting a tide of tears.

"Well I love her too. Very, very much. We had an argument, that was all. We worked it out and she isn't mad at me anymore. Everything is fine with us, I promise."

"I want to live with both of you."

 _Ah jeez_. "Of course, Carl." He realizes now how torn his son must have felt after he'd moved out of the house when he and Lori had split up. And now, with the whole world balancing so precariously in its cradle, the thought of his family breaking up again must be absolutely terrifying. "We are both here for you. That's not gonna change."

When his marriage had crumbled beyond repair and they'd finally decided to call it quits, he thought they had handled it well, but maybe not. They had taken him to Dairy Queen one Saturday afternoon at the beginning of summer, figuring an ice cream sundae would soften the blow. Yeah, like that would make it so much better. He can still picture the untouched strawberries drowning in the bowl of vanilla soup like all of the tender promises made and forgotten over ten years of a complicated marriage.

Carl was upset, naturally, but he'd seemed to understand, to the best that a nine year old can anyway. They had assured him that it wasn't his fault and neither one would ever stop loving him, and they did their best to prove it. Lori was always good about letting him see his son whenever he'd wanted, so as far as divorces went it was extremely amicable, thank God. Carl had adjusted quickly and enjoyed his Wednesday nights and every other weekend with Dad without qualm or complaint. Come to think of it, Rick remembers Carl being extraordinarily well-behaved actually. Maybe he didn't want to disappoint or anger his parents for fear that they would divorce him too, abandoning him completely. _Jesus. That's why he was so helpful loading up the cars this morning!_

Rick swallows the lump forming in his throat and grips his boy's shoulders. "Carl, no matter what happens, I will always be here for you. If nothing else, you have to believe that. Okay?"

Carl nods his head hard and a couple of tears spill over to course gently down his cheeks. Rick pulls him into a tight embrace, praying once again for the power to keep that promise. After an earnest hug from his son's spindly arms, so deeply given that it forces tears to build behind his own eyes, Rick sucks in a steadying breath and turns to lead Carl back to the car. He drapes his arm across the boy's shoulders, comforting them both. "Alright, Bud, let's go."

"Wait, Dad."

 _Oh no._ "What is it?"

A smirk of a smile tugs the corner of Carl's mouth, easing the grip of anxiety surrounding Rick's heart.

"I still have to pee."

* * *

Driving through a windy drizzle, Rick steers the van into the driveway of a small white church sitting in a large clearing on the side of Golden Isles Parkway, a few miles before the road continues into the central hub of Baxley, Georgia. He wasn't surprised to see the flash of Daryl's blinker just before the motorcycle turned into the property. Though it isn't raining heavily yet, it's still enough to impair his vision on the slick roads, and especially dangerous when he's fighting the wind along with it.

After passing acres and acres of nothing but flat fields or tall trees, Rick was grateful to see a building that could hopefully offer them a place to ride out the storm. The Southern Baptist church is a fairly small house of worship, with a single ground floor beneath a very high pitched roof that reaches into the sky despite its lack of a steeple. The two-story manse, containing the working and living space for the pastor and his family, is attached through a covered breezeway on the left side of the sanctuary. Without the traditional rooftop spire, the whole structure looks more like a large house than a church, except for the long windows that are partially decorated in stained-glass and look out to a large cemetery in the backyard.

Rick stops the van at the base of the walkway leading up to the front door, its red surface dripping with moisture like the flowing blood of Christ. He watches Daryl rest the bike on its kickstand and shake the water from his hair and eyes. Turning in his seat, he lays a hand on Erin's thigh and peers over his shoulder toward the passengers in the back. "Alright guys, just stay here 'til we give you the signal."

Erin gives his arm a light squeeze. "Be careful, honey."

"Always." He steps out of the van to meet Daryl under a sky so dark it feels more like the coming of night than the center of the afternoon in its two o'clock hour. With the fast moving clouds obliterating the sun so completely, he wonders what the local weathermen would be saying if the daily news shows were still broadcasting. It certainly feels like something strong is stirring up. But just how strong exactly?

Daryl waits for him on the steps at the foot of the walkway. "Sorry Rick, but this wind is gonna knock me on my ass before we get to the coast. There's a helluva storm brewin' up there."

"I know, don't worry. You made the right call," Rick says with a hand shielding his eyes from the blowing rain as T-Dog and Glenn join them. "Alright, let's clear this place and get everyone inside."

An hour later, Rick walks into the upstairs bathroom where Erin is shining her flashlight across the contents of the medicine cabinet. After investigating every holy nook and sacred cranny of the buildings, they'd found some decent supplies and less than a handful of walkers – an elderly trio sitting solemnly in death after seeking comfort within the house of the Lord.

"Hey, Red, do you need help with anything up here?"

She looks up from the white pill bottle in her hand as the rain beats belligerently against the shingles above them. "No, I'm good."

"Okay. I'm gonna go over to the sanctuary for a bit."

She tilts her chin as her brows go up. "You okay?"

 _Damn, she knows me too well_. "Yeah. I, uh..." He looks down toward the circle of white on the floor shining from his own flashlight. "I'm just gonna sit for a few minutes."

"Do you want company?"

"No, honey. You finish your thing here, I'll be fine." He steps forward to place a gentle kiss on her cheek. "But thank you for offering," he says softly before turning back into the hallway.

Retracing his steps down the stairs and past the den where his friends are settling in, he dips his chin with a smile to Carl as the boy searches through a closet with Duane. He walks by the candlelit kitchen where Sophia is helping Carol and Michonne clean out what little is left in the cupboards, then passes another bathroom and a small office before opening the door to the breezeway, and almost losing it in a gust of vicious wind.

He forcefully closes the door on a few female shrieks and quickly walks the few feet to the side entrance of the sanctuary, gripping the door handle tightly to keep it attached to its frame. With the wind blowing the rain in from both sides, he is soaked in the three seconds it takes him to get into the church, the overhang giving minimal protection against the storm.

He shakes the rain from his hair and sweeps the beam of his flashlight over the empty pews, sitting in silent vigil before the son of God behind the altar. The statue of the crucified Jesus hangs on a large wooden cross against the wall. And though his eyes are closed and his chin downcast, it is easy to feel judged in his presence. If He actually _is_ present, Rick thinks as he looks at the face of his savior and gets sadder and madder with every step that brings him closer to the altar.

Standing at the railing, he runs his hand through his hair, scraping his nails against his scalp where he can almost feel the pricks of his own thorny crown. He catches himself and lowers his hand quickly with a gentle smirk to Jesus, full of sincere empathy and humble apology. Taking a lighter from his pocket he steps around the railing and holds it to the tips of the two altar candles until their flames are stretching up toward heaven. He switches off the flashlight and returns to his spot on the other side of the rail.

A full minute goes by as he stands alone in the sanctuary, silently regarding the man on the cross as the storm rages outside and a bitter squall of contempt begins to brew in his belly once again.

He glares at the statue.

"Shane? Jacqui? Jim? Andrea?" Each name is spoken with a heavy heart and rich with accusation. His jaw tightens. "Lori? Three quarters of the entire world! Who's next?" he asks, feeling like a condemned general leading his troops into a deadly battle of a losing war. He feels the anger surging stronger and fights to control that part of him that is itching to lash out at the unfairness of it all.

He inhales deeply, a soul cleansing breath that bows his head as the anger subsides. "Look, I know I should be grateful for waking up from that coma and for finding my boy and my sister. And I am grateful. For them and for Erin too. God knows I don't deserve her." He catches himself and shakes his head at his words. "Uh, I mean… well, yeah you know.

"And I guess you already know I'm no altar boy. This is the first church I've stepped into in a long time. But don't hold that against my son. Maybe I don't deserve your mercy, but Carl does. He deserves a life. A decent life full of baseball and video games. Not living with a vicious killer around every turn." His heart picks up as his blood pressure rises in anger again.

He breathes in.

He breathes out.

"Okay, I know maybe that isn't possible right now. But maybe you can just help me keep him away from the killers until he grows up. Give him a chance to grow up. Please."

His shoulders drop, letting his head fall back with his eyes closed, the fight draining out of him. Opening his eyes, he sees the candlelight flickering on the pale ceiling above him. Recalling his earlier conversation with Carl, he looks back at Jesus with renewed vigor.

"I don't know if there's a heaven up there or not. But I'm kind of counting on it and maybe one day I'll have earned a place in it. But you're not making it easy when we have to fight and kill to scratch out a decent life down here. And by decent, I mean barely tolerable.

"The line between what is right and what is wrong is so incredibly blurred right now. I mean, is it a mortal sin to take a life if that is the only way to defend your family? Does that make me a ruthless killer damned to spend eternity in hell? Or does that make me a loving father because I won't hesitate to protect my child at any cost? The child _you_ gave me to look after." Rick scowls, demanding an answer that will never come. "When does absolute devotion become a wicked transgression?"

He brushes a hand across his face and is surprised when it comes away wet. Unaware of the tears that had begun to trickle down his cheeks, he stares at the salty moisture glistening on his finger, a tiny teardrop that holds all the remorse he stores close to his heart.

Releasing a deep breath, he inhales through his nose, sniffling against the wetness caught inside his nostrils. He gazes back up to the statue.

"Listen, it can't be a crime to protect your loved ones. It can't be. And if it is, then I'll gladly burn in hell, because I will never stop fighting for my family. I won't fail them." He lowers his head and rubs a wrist beneath his nose. "Please, I can't fail them," he mutters softly.

"I'm trying so hard and I think I'm making the right decisions… I really believe that I am, but you don't know how hard that is to know." He returns his gaze to Jesus and the corner of his mouth lifts in a wry smirk. "Yeah, I guess maybe you do." He glances around the sanctuary as thoughts tumble around his brain, whirling like the branches being tossed in the wind on the other side of the stained-glass.

"What if Savannah ends up being a death trap? What if the dream meant something else entirely? If you could just give me a sign, you know? Like a clap of thunder to tell me we're on the right track." The wind continues to howl as the rain pounds mercilessly against the roof of the small church. "Well, then again, that won't really tell me anything with this storm you've given us. Thanks for that, by the way," he says with a sarcastic sneer. "It's not like we have enough to deal with already. Why don't you just throw a little hurricane in our path, no worries!"

He clasps his hands on top of his head and turns to face the back of the church, looking for salvation in the shadows as his jaw clenches tight. He lowers his arms when a dull ache throbs in his left shoulder, reminding him of the bullet that had nearly killed him - another treat that God had sent his way.

The urge to shout - and the freedom to do so in the privacy of the church, builds in his chest like a tidal wave rolling toward the shore. "What do you want from me?!" he screams at the ceiling, bringing his argument straight to the big man Himself. "Come on, give me a sign dammit!" His anger carries his voice above the sound of the tempest battering the east coast. "Make something move! How about one of your precious _bibles_ , huh?" He spits the word like it is bitter on his tongue as he swings a hand toward the six rows of long wooden benches, stoic in the shimmering candlelight.

After a few moments of scanning the room and finding no sudden flurry of verses and psalms, no movement of any kind other than the pounding of his own heart inside his chest, he can't help but glower at the ceiling. Though he knows his request may be unreasonable, his fingers still curl into fists at the futility of it all. "Yeah, that's what I thought. We're in this alone down here. Aren't we?

"What? You got so fed up with our reckless behavior and irresponsibility for the land and seas that you left in our care, our disrespect for basic human decency, so you decided to take it all away? Well we aren't giving it up that easily, you hear me!" His chest heaves with all the fury in his soul. "Maybe you've given up on us, but we're not giving up on ourselves!"

Completely spent, he walks away to find solace in his family. He gets halfway down the aisle and stops, releasing a long, indignant breath. Feeling somewhat steadier, he turns back to the statue of Jesus.

Before he can change his mind, he quickly steps to the railing and drops to his knees. Bowing his head, he folds his hands and lifts his knuckles to his forehead. "Please keep me alive so I can keep my family alive," he whispers reverently. "Amen."


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! I am thrilled that you guys are still enjoying this story! I'm posting this chapter a little early since I will be away for the next couple of days. Enjoy...**

* * *

Chapter Forty-three

The winds have finally blown out to sea and taken the rain with it, but the storm surge has left a lake over the church's entire front lot and much of the back, where the first few rows of headstones seem to be sitting in a river of tears from Mother Nature herself.

Rick finds Erin sitting with Daryl on the landing of the breezeway, looking out at the cars whose tires are partially hidden under eight inches of water. Perched with their feet on the top two steps of a seven step staircase, they sit well above the waterline. He looks out across the yard and sees nothing but water and trees, no indication of where the grass gives way to yellow-lined blacktop. "Christ, that's a lot of water," he says as the sun glints off of a long branch that floats leisurely around the bumper of Morgan's Honda.

Daryl rises from the stoop. "I'm gonna go look for some wood so we can build us an ark." He lifts his shoulders in an unruly shrug, rolling his neck vehemently as if the shirt he is wearing was trying to suffocate him. "God damned hurricane," he mutters as he moves around Rick and disappears into the manse.

"That is a lot of water," Erin repeats, looking at Rick with a forlorn expression when he sits down next to her. "How long do you think it'll take to recede?"

"Well it's already started. Look at the tires, you can see the watermark there."

He points a finger toward the van at the other end of the walkway.

"My eyes aren't as good as yours so I'll just take your word for it."

"Yeah, trust me. It's definitely gone down a little. Another five or six hours and it should be low enough to drive through." Rick looks toward the right where the Golden Isles Parkway lies beneath the Altamaha River for about a quarter of a mile, which is as far as he can see. "On this stretch anyway. I'll take the pickup and check out the area up ahead, see how bad the roads are up there."

"Take Daryl with you, honey. He needs to get out of here. If he's stuck inside another day I'm afraid he's going to start chewing his foot off."

"I know. He hates being cooped up, and he's still pissed about his bike."

Daryl had been upset that morning to find his saturated motorcycle leaning against the side of the church with its kickstand sunken in a muddy mire, the tarp he'd secured over it fifty feet away, wrapped around the railing of the stairs by the front door to the sanctuary. He'd spent an hour towel drying it as best he could and added a little WD-40 to disperse any moisture stuck inside the pivot points. Hopefully that will be enough to keep it going.

"Maybe he'll find a new bike when you go out later," Erin says, pressing the side of her knee into Rick's.

"He won't want a new one. And this one will be alright after it sits in the sun all day."

"It's funny, isn't it? How such a beautiful sky can shine down now as if nothing had happened yesterday, like it's not taking any credit at all for leaving us stranded here like this." She leans her head against his shoulder. "When we were eating dinner last night, in the middle of all that crazy wind and rain, it really felt like we might never see the sun again. And then today it shows up all smug and cheery."

He smiles at her insightful perception and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "Yeah. I guess that's just the way life goes on, isn't it."

* * *

Rick steers the pickup truck around another huge tree, this one lying in the crook of a telephone wire suspended just above the asphalt like a giant slingshot. Three miles from the church, they continue to twist and turn through the shallow water, making their way around all the debris scattered about the town of Baxley; branches and brambles and enormous oaks pulled out of the ground to lie on top of crushed cars and damaged roofs, their thick roots exposed to hang limply in the late afternoon sun.

Daryl points to a spot up ahead on the right. "Hey check that out."

Rick sees the sign for a Suzuki dealer standing above a large showroom. "Really? You want a new bike?"

"What? No, ain't nothin' wrong with my bike," he says defensively. "Just got a little wet's all."

Rick chuckles lightly. _See, Erin, I told you so_. "Then why do you want to check out the Suzuki's?"

"I don't. I'm talkin' 'bout the RV lot next to it. We could trade in Dale's junker for a nice new ride."

"Good idea." Rick maneuvers around a displaced garbage can and rolls slowly past the Suzuki shop.

From the seat next to him, he hears a murmured mumble around a dirty thumbnail. "Don't need no new bike."

Rick glances over at his friend, staring morosely through his corner of the windshield. "Doesn't look like they have anything as nice as Merle's chopper," he says in an effort to lift his friend's spirits. Then a little more gently he adds, "He'd be happy that you're still riding it for him."

"Mmhh."

"I'm real sorry you lost him, Daryl."

Daryl gives him a short nod and looks down with a quick quiet,"Thanks." A moment later he straightens in his seat. "I always thought he'd outlive me. He was the toughest som' bitch I knew and I figured he was just too selfish and too stubborn to die first."

"In the end, he wanted to protect you. You were all that mattered to him."

"I don't know. Merle never did nothin' like that his whole life."

A somber silence stretches between them as Rick pulls into the Georgia Dust RV Sales and Rental. He clears his throat and gives his partner a gentle smirk to lighten the heavy moment. "Thanks for not letting him kill me after the whole hand thing."

"He was never gonna kill ya."

"Erin wasn't so sure about that."

"Nah, he wasn't gonna kill the one person he knew could look out for me. He may have hated ya, but he trusted ya."

"Really?" Rick parks among a fleet of campers ranging from twenty-two to forty-five feet long, luxurious behemoths ready to tear up the road. "He told you that?"

"No. But I knew."

"How?"

"'Cause if he really wanted to kill you, you'd be dead," Daryl says and climbs out of the truck as if he hadn't just caused a shiver to slither up Rick's spine.

"Well thanks for not sharing that bit of information with Erin," he mutters dryly as he reaches for his own door handle.

Taking his gun from its holster, he follows Daryl along a row of Quantum campers, heading toward the main office and hopefully a selection of keys. When a substantial thud echoes from a thirty-six foot Thor Motor Coach, Daryl stops suddenly and turns to him with a finger on his lips. A murmuring of voices penetrates a large window that was designed to offer a panoramic view to relaxing travelers.

Rick looks around the lot and sees no other signs of life, no indication that a group of refugees were making this place their home. Whoever is inside this camper is just passing through. He knocks on the glass, not too aggressive and nothing sinister, just three short raps from one neighbor to another in search of a cup of sugar. "How are y'all doing in there?" When his question is answered by complete silence, he knocks again. "We know you're in there, come on out."

His tone is friendly but he strokes the trigger of the Colt at his side, ready to aim and fire if necessary, just in case.

A little more leery, Daryl holds the arrowhead of the loaded crossbow aimed at the door of the vehicle.

Rick hears a light scuffle of movement inside the camper and then a soft whisper. _"Wait, maybe they'll just go away."_

A second voice answers at normal volume, not even bothering to keep it down. _"They know we're here, Aaron. Come on."_

Two men step out of the camper, the first one holding a gun in his hand and pointed at Daryl's chest. Rick lifts the Colt to defend his partner. "Easy now, we don't want any trouble."

"Then you guys should just keep on walking," the man says, glancing at Rick but keeping his gun trained on Daryl.

The second man steps to the side of his friend. "We don't want any trouble either," he says quickly with a nervous smile as he rubs his palms on his jean-clad thighs before holding them up in surrender. "Listen, uh, why don't we all just put our weapons down and, uh, pretend that we never saw each other."

The man is fairly young, Rick thinks, about the same age as himself, with wavy brown hair cut short and neatly combed, and sympathetic eyes that are more curious than cruel, inviting you in to share a quick laugh and warm conversation.

His cohort is a different story. With a very thick beard and long brown hair hanging way past his shoulders, this hippy seems a little younger and a lot more wily. He lifts his chin as his eyes dart around, looking for any additional threats other than Daryl and himself. The man is tense but ready; thoroughly rigid but at the same time loose enough to move quickly if needed _. Smart man_ , Rick thinks, as the hippy locks eyes with Daryl again.

"Alright, take it easy," Rick says, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Nobody needs to get shot."

"Then put down your weapons." Hippy says calmly as he glances at Rick and then back to Daryl.

 _Not a chance_. "Where's the rest of your group?" Rick asks.

"We don't -,"

"They're around," Hippy cuts his friend off. "Not too far, so if you're thinking of starting something here, they're gonna finish it and it's not gonna end well for any of us," he says and Rick knows that he is trying real hard not to blink, a telltale sign of a lie.

He also sees that the safety is still engaged on the gun that is pointed at Daryl's face. _Amateurs._

"Yeah? Is that gun even loaded?" Rick takes a cautious step closer to the man.

"Of course it is." He looks a little nervous, not as sure of himself as he was a minute ago.

With his own gun still aimed at the long-haired man, Rick lunges forward and swiftly snatches the revolver from the hippy's grip.

"What the hell?!" the man exclaims before taking a step backward and raising his arms to mirror his friend.

"Yeah, what the hell, Rick?!" Daryl complains, clearly affronted. "Ya could'a got me shot!"

"Even if it is loaded, it's not gonna work with the safety on," Rick says, turning the gun in his hand to open the cylinder.

"Shit," Hippy mumbles under his breath.

"I told you we should've left it inside," his friend mutters as Rick checks the chamber and finds it empty.

"We ran out of bullets yesterday," Clean-Cut says. "Please, just let us go."

"Where ya goin' to?" Daryl asks as Rick hands the gun back to the hippy.

"Savannah."

"Charleston," Hippy says at the same time and then shoots his partner another exasperated look.

"What? They're either gonna kill us or they're not. So what's the point in lying."

Rick meets Daryl's eyes for a moment and then looks back at Clean-Cut. "You really heading to Savannah?"

"Yes, we are," the man answers adamantly as Hippy rolls his eyes.

"Why Savannah?" Rick asks, wondering if they are following the same course of rumors.

"We heard about a refugee center up there."

"Where are you coming from? Why aren't you with a bigger group?"

Hippy squares his shoulders and starts to speak until Rick cuts him off. "And don't give me that bullshit about your friends being close by. We all know you two are on your own out here."

"Okay, no bullshit. We were with a small group in Tallahassee. It was fine for a while but then too many hotheaded leaders with very little common sense was making it a dangerous place to be. Things were getting ugly and we couldn't trust any of them."

"A civil war was going to break out at any moment," his partner continues. "We heard about Savannah and figured we take our chances on the road heading North. We were doing alright until we ran out of gas about ten miles back on Route One."

"Well it looks like we're heading to the same place," Rick says, tilting his chin. "Maybe we can help each other out."

"How's that?" Hippy asks.

Rick shifts his feet on the wet ground and holsters his weapon. "The most important commodity these days is people."

"Good people," Daryl adds. "Strength in numbers."

"And we've got a good group of people with us," Rick tells them and then holds out his right hand, thumb up and fingers straightforward in welcome; a vow of friendship, a sign of trust. "I'm Rick. My friend here is Daryl."

Hippy hesitates for a moment and then reaches out to take Rick's palm in a firm handshake. He nods to the man on his left. "This is Aaron, and I'm Jesus."

"No shit?" Daryl cries with an amused grin. "I mean yeah, I can see why. Ya look just like him."

Rick straightens for a moment as a tingle blooms at the top of his spine.

"Well, my real name is Paul Rovia, but my friends call me Jesus."

Rick drops his chin and chuckles under his breath, and then gazes back to the long-haired man. "Oh, we are definitely gonna be friends."

"Yeah? You trust us?" Jesus asks, sounding highly skeptical.

"Absolutely." Rick's face shines with a brilliant smile, his heart feeling lighter than it has in days. "Yesterday I asked God to give me a sign. Today I found Jesus, literally. Figure a sign can't get much clearer than that."

Jesus grins back at him with a shrug of agreement. "Works for me."

Daryl extends an arm for his own handshake and Rick sees him hold his grip for a prolonged moment, pulling the man a bit closer. "Just don't crucify us in our sleep."

"No worries," Aaron says quickly, stepping forward and reaching out for Daryl's hand.

When Daryl steps back after securing a truce with Aaron, Rick gives the hunter's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Come on, man. It's gonna be fine. Now let's go pick out a present for Dale."

* * *

Returning to the church with two new campers and two new friends, both of which Rick hopes will come in handy on their journey, they are greeted happily and the men are welcomed warmly into the fold, the charge led by Carol and Erin. The evening is spent getting to know their new comrades over a tournament of board games, orchestrated by Carl and Duane.

Sitting in a comfortable recliner in the spacious family room, Rick watches Erin and Sophia on one side of a Parcheesi board in a battle against Aaron and Amy. He is thoroughly enjoying himself, feeling relaxed and at ease in the candlelight that glows warm and cozy on his family and friends spread about the room. He glances at Carl in the far corner, who utters a complaint about an unfortunate roll of the Yahtzee dice in a match against Kelly and Eugene, and then returns his gaze to Erin when her laughter calls his attention. Her face is lit up with a smile so bright that his heart skips to a joyous rhythm inside his chest. And then it trips and stumbles as he realizes that her smile is directed specifically at Aaron.

A strange feeling rises up from his bowels, through his belly, along his spine and across his shoulders before sitting stubbornly at the base of his skull. In all his life, through years of family dysfunction, teenage tumult and exhausting relationships, he'd felt fear, bitterness, rage, and anguish. But he'd never felt jealousy. Not until now. Not until Erin.

He'd never thought twice about it whenever he'd seen Lori talking to a good looking guy. It just wasn't in his nature to summon the green-eyed monster. Or maybe he just didn't love her enough to care. And truth be told, he'd never thought twice about Erin smiling at Daryl or Glenn either. And they'd made her smile plenty. But when she smiles at Aaron, there is a spark in her eyes that enhances the happiness on her lips. Not necessarily a romantic spark, but a flicker of light all the same.

Of course he wants her to be happy. But he'd never imagined that anyone could make her as happy as he could. It's _his_ job to keep her happy. But maybe he isn't doing his job as well as he'd thought all these weeks. They have been fighting a bit lately, hell – from the moment they'd met a day hasn't gone by that they didn't argue about something. But that's just part of the passion they feel for one another; the flip side of the extraordinary love that they have for each other.

Then why can't he scratch away the thing gnawing at the back of his throat? He knows he's being irrational, he trusts her completely. And although he barely knows the man, he really likes Aaron. A lot. But that doesn't mean he likes the way the man can make his woman smile. And not just a cheerful grin on her merry cheeks, but a flat-out full-on true beam of joy that says, My heart is open so please come in and make yourself at home.

How can he possibly do his job when she is looking at this guy like that! And what is Aaron going to do about it? Maybe it was a mistake to bring them back here. Maybe it wasn't a sign from God after all. Or maybe he just misread the sign. Again.

That is the notion that scares him the most.


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! They mean so much to me and I truly appreciate each and every word. Thanks for taking the time to let me know what you think. Keep 'em coming!**

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Chapter Forty-four

One tremendous snore emanates from the family room followed by an equally loud but slightly leaner wheeze from a roommate. Despite all the noise from the dueling snorers, Rick walks quietly down the stairs, stepping gingerly to keep the creaking to a minimum. Bare-chested and barefoot below his black jeans, in deference to the humidity that had come back with a vengeance, he rubs the drowsiness from his eyes as he heads toward the kitchen. At just after two in the morning, the entire house is asleep – except for the woman who shares his bed.

He vaguely remembers her slipping out with a mumble about getting a drink, but that seems like hours ago. In full conscious reality, it may have only been minutes, but now that he's awake he won't be able to fall back to sleep without her beside him. His body is so attuned to hers that unless her heart is beating in a peaceful rhythm and within arm's length, his will not be at rest.

Through the doorway of the large kitchen, the glow of a candle floats soft and inviting. He enters the room to find Erin in her black nylon shorts and a deep burgundy tank top, sitting on the counter holding a glass of water to her forehead as the humid night air wafts way too gently through the open window behind the sink. The light breeze does nothing to cool the room, but creates a symphony of dancing shadows as it stirs the flames of the pillar candles glowing from their perch atop the stove. With her hair piled high on her head in a messy ponytail, he sees her neck glistening with sweat in the muted light.

"Aren't you a little young to be having hot flashes?" he teases, crossing the room to stand at her counter.

"I wish it was just a flash. This night is never ending." She lowers the glass to the counter as he steps between her knees and leans in to press a soft kiss to her lips. "You should be sleeping," she says softly against his mouth.

"So should you."

"Too hot to sleep," she replies, dragging her bare ankles along the black denim of his jeans.

"Why didn't you wake me? I would've come down with you." He squints at her with a semi-serious smirk as the green sheen of jealousy clouds his vision once again. "Or were you waiting for your friend Aaron to meet you here?" Dammit, he can't help himself. "Shit, I just ruined it for you, didn't I?" he teases. Sort of.

"Darn it, you found us out," she answers dryly and then tilts her chin as her fingertips caress his chest. "Yeah, we were passing notes under the Parchesi board," she whispers seductively. "He's going to meet me down here so he can really pounce on me to drive me home."

Though he knows she is just teasing him, he can't fight the tightening in his jaws.

"Oh my, God. You are so jealous!"

Of course he is. "No I'm not."

"Yes you are!" She beams up at him, seemingly proud of her observation. "Look at you!" She tilts her head with a sexy little grin. "You know, you're kind of cute when you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous." _Just because I have this insane urge burning inside me to prove myself to you…_ He doesn't voice that thought, but can't contain the next one, only slightly less unreasonable. "Just because I want to smack the smile off a guy that flirts with my girl-,"

"You ass, he wasn't flirting!"

"He was!" he snaps, and then exhales through his nose, calming himself to keep his voice – and his emotions – in check. "And you were enjoying it," he adds, his tone a bit softer but still bitterly sharp.

"I was enjoying his company because he reminds me of a guy I used to work with! A good friend of mine. He was a great guy and the best nurse at Northside and Aaron is a lot like him."

"So you had a thing for that guy too, huh?" Rick can't help himself, the words are out before he can get a firm grip of sanity on his tongue.

"Oh yeah," she says with a sarcastic lilt. "We used to snuggle up and watch 'The Birdcage' and 'Hairspray' on Netflix."

"And now you want to get all cozy with Aaron."

"No, honey, Aaron is as gay as my friend Greg was."

He inhales to launch the next barb and then splutters with a cough as her words sink in. "What?" He blinks hard and then gapes at her in confusion.

Her palms rest tenderly against his cheeks, stabilizing him with the security of her touch. "Seriously, babe, he'd rather sleep with you than with me."

"No way, Red." He gives her a highly suspicious smirk, but feels a considerable weight ease off of his chest. "What makes you think he's gay?"

"I have excellent gaydar."

"Oh come on. He's not giving off that kind of vibe at all."

"Just because he isn't the stereotypical ultra-feminine swisher with a limp wrist and stiff pinky, doesn't mean he isn't gay."

He gives her another dubious look.

"And…" she grins with a cheerful degree of pride. "He mentioned that he and his 'partner' Jesus had been living in Key West for eight years. If you do the math, X equals gay." She smiles innocently as her thumbs trace the contour of his lips.

"Well, yeah they did say something about being together for a long time. I just thought they were really close, you know?"

"Yes, honey." She chuckles softly. "Extremely close."

"Well, that's nice," he says and means it sincerely. "Good for them."

"And good for you, huh? Now you don't have to be jealous."

"Yeah, very good for me. I actually like the guy and it would've sucked if I had to give him a nose job."

"Spoken like a true Neanderthal," she says dryly. "My hero."

"Well I'm sorry but I've never felt this way before." He pulls back as his spine stiffens with irritation, more at his own lack of maturity than with anything she has said. "This is brand new territory for me."

"Hey." She slips her hands behind his neck and pulls him closer until their foreheads are touching lightly. "You don't ever have to be jealous. Don't you know that you're the only one for me? How can you not know that, Rick?"

Rubbing his hands along her thighs, he presses his forehead firmly into hers.

"Because I'm an idiot and I forgot what I already knew. I'm sorry, sweetheart." The heat from her skin soaks directly into him while their breath mingles between them, making the humid night air even hotter. "Christ it's hot in here." He pulls back in search of a fresh current.

"I know." Her hand slips away for a moment and then comes back up with the glass of water. "Here, honey."

"Does that help at all?" he asks, taking the cup from her hand and bringing it to his mouth for a sip. When she shakes her head woefully, he dips two fingers into the glass and glides a wet line across her forehead, blowing a cooling breeze against the moisture as she closes her eyes.

"Mmm, now that helps a little," she murmurs as he dips his fingers once again.

Feeling strangely invigorated with the truth about Aaron, he paints another line down the side of her neck, blowing softly and punctuating it with a kiss against the base of her throat when she tilts her head back in pleasurable relief. And then once more, two fingers collect cool water to trickle a trail from her throat to the dip of her cleavage.

Holding the glass between them, he tilts it over her breast, just enough to let a small stream of liquid douse her tank top and the hardening niblet beneath it. Leaning down he covers the wet spot with his mouth, sucking the moisture from the cotton and nipping at the pebbled bud inside it, eliciting a soft mewl from her throat. Lifting his head, he returns his adventurous fingers to the glass and, looking at her lips, opens his mouth slightly as a silent signal for her to do the same. She parts her lips and he inserts the dripping digits between them. She pulls them in and rolls her tongue around the pads and over his short nails, moaning softly as she looks into his eyes with longing for something more.

He feels a cozy pressure squeezing his hips within her knees, and then an even nicer emphasis on his growing erection in the shape of her palm. He fights to contain a heady moan from his diaphragm as he places the glass on the counter with a heavy hand, sloshing the water inside.

Pulling his other hand away from her mouth, he crashes his lips into hers and replaces his fingers with his tongue, plunging between her teeth in an urgent dance of enchantment. He frames her faces between his palms, savoring the tongue that swirls over his with a passion that quickly ignites a flame in his belly. When she pulls back for air after a few fiery moments, he is trembling with need; an intensely possessive need.

He groans into her hair as she unfastens his pants and reaches into his boxer briefs, taking him in her hand and rolling her thumb across the super-sensitive tip. She strokes his length and he finds her mouth once again, searching for her sweetness to absorb the cries of his desire. He loses himself in her taste, in her touch, and in the love that she gives so completely. "Baby, I love you so much."

"I love you," she whispers breathlessly against his mouth as her hand continues to move over him, consistently smooth and delightfully firm. Squeezing and pleasing him, she swallows his moans until his need to be inside of her becomes unbearably potent.

Wrapping his arms around her back, he pulls her to the edge of the counter, forcing her to release him from her amorous grip before her hand can be trapped between them. She brings both hands up to hold his shoulders and he lifts her from the counter, pulling her hard against his chest. Her legs cling to his waist as he turns toward the table in the center of the room. Laying her upon it, he grinds his arousal against the thin nylon covering her center. Her hips move to meet his, answering his demand for more and echoing his voracious need to become one.

He feels her fingers digging into his back as he possesses her mouth once again, hungrily thrusting his tongue inside as he covers her breast with an ardently eager hand. He can't get enough of her. He worships her body thoroughly, massaging her chest, her hip, her ass. His hand moves over her flesh in a frenzy of fervent caresses as he continues to press his groin into hers.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp and a growl, quickly leaning back to reach for the waistband of her shorts. Fingering the hem of her panties as well, he pulls both garments down her long luscious legs and drops them at his feet, immediately forgetting their existence. She lies open before him, beautifully bare and wondrously alluring. Shoving his jeans down to his thighs, he looks at her through starving eyes and lifts his chin with a small hitch to the side. As if she'd heard him speak the words, she sits up and slips off the edge of the table, running a slow hand down the center of his chest before turning to bend over the white formica.

Stepping directly behind her, he caresses her hips as she spreads her feet apart. "Are you ready for me, sweetheart?" He dips a hand between her thighs and she moans at his touch, the sound muffled by the wrist that her cheek is resting upon.

"God yes."

He leans over to place a kiss at the base of her spine, just below the hem of her tank top. She arches her back with a quickening breath as he works his fingers deep inside and then gently over the tuft of nerves at her clit. She is still groaning against her wrist when he quickly removes his hand and buries his erection deep within her. Engulfed to the hilt, he holds himself still for a few precious moments, caressing her back lovingly before gripping her hips to begin thrusting in and out, sleek and steady. He starts slow, fighting the urge to pour himself with complete abandon. Moving his hips in a leisurely fashion, his gyrations are gentle but his body is tense, rigid with yearning as he savors their connection. "You feel so damn good."

"Mmm…"

He feels a slight tug on his balls and then her hand is cupping them gently. "Christ, that feels good." Another light pull on his nuts and his control is completely shattered. Clutching her hips, he pumps feverishly into her, driving harder and harder as if he had something to prove. With every thrust, he is reminding her… You. Are. Mine.

Her palm presses softly against his sac as her fingertips rub across a sensitive spot just behind it. His belly quivers and his cock twitches, inching dangerously close to detonating. He grinds to a halt. Holding himself balls-deep within her, he lets the upsurge subside. "Hang on, honey."

"Rick," she sighs softly, breathing heavily beneath him, quietly moaning her love for him as she continues to stroke him gently.

"I'm not gonna last much longer." Leaning flush against her back, he rests his forearm on the table at her shoulder, surrounding her with his body, both inside and out. She lifts her head and pulls his fist beneath her chin. He feels the warmth of her mouth against the back of his wrist as he reaches his other arm around her hip, slipping his hand to their junction and brushing her own inquisitive fingers out of the way. He presses his lips to her nape as he teases the slick tissue knotted at the top of her opening. The small sting of incisors bites into his captured wrist, his arm rumbling beneath a muffled moan as her ass shimmies slightly against his crotch. "Oh, yeah." His finger circles the tender pleat, around and around. "There it is. That's the spot, isn't it, baby?" She answers with a healthy groan, her face buried within the arc of his arm. "I love you, honey," he breathes against her hair as his fingertip continues to fondle.

She lifts her head slightly. "I love you." Her whole body seems to tremble within his hands as she tucks her chin down again, resting her forehead against his forearm. "God, I love you." The muffled words bypass his ears and resonate straight to his heart.

"I love you. So much, baby." He scrapes his teeth gently along the side of her neck, restraining the impulse to clamp down. Closing his lips against the animalistic urge, he presses a hard kiss to her shoulder instead. "I want to feel you come now. Come for me, sweetheart." He strokes her faster and feels the tightening of her walls around him as her body quakes through a powerful orgasm.

"Oh God!" Her hand reaches back and clings onto his hip, digging her nails into his skin almost painfully so.

"That's it, honey." His erection swells inside her, begging for his own release. "Fuck, you feel so good." Pushing off of the table, he stands up quickly, upsetting her for just a moment with the removal of his hands. But the somewhat whiny groan turns into a heartfelt moan when he grips her hips and plunges into her shuddering heat again and again.

He hears a few muttered words of encouragement, sworn through gritted teeth, as he pumps his hips faster and faster, increasing the rhythm as well as the pressure as he drives into her core, the soft sounds of flesh meeting flesh echoing in the candlelight. "Oh, baby. Oh, Rick. Oh, yeah."

He pours his heart into every thrust until his balls draw up with the sweetest relief. Squeezing her hips fervently, he pulls her body tightly against him as he spills his love inside her with an earth-shattering orgasm that he feels from his heart to his soul.

As he floats down from the heavens and his erection begins to soften inside her, he collapses on top of her, lying flush against her back once again. He curls his arms beneath her, holding her dear as their shadows pulsate on the walls in the flickering candlelight, both of them panting for much needed air. He rests his sweaty cheek against her perspiring shoulder blade and feels her inhale and exhale deeply beneath him.

"Honey?"

"Yeah, baby?" he answers thickly, trying to catch the breath she took away.

"I'm still hot."

"I guess that wasn't the best way to cool you off, huh?" He feels a chuckle roll through her as their sweat mingles in the heat of a southern summer night, their faithful hearts connected as intrinsically as their hot-blooded bodies.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter Forty-five

The heat in the upstairs bedroom is even hotter than the kitchen but Rick refuses to let Erin roll away from him. Half asleep, he tightens his hold and glances at the window on the far wall, where dawn is breaking with soft strokes of gray and pink against a dark blue canvas. She snuggles her cheek back into his chest and his arm continues to rise and fall in the gentle rhythm of her steady breathing. His sleepy fingers glide softly against her shoulder, feather-light caresses upon her warm skin, back and forth and forth and back until he fades away to join her…

 _He looks up at a bright blue sky, the perfect kind that shines so clear that it's easy to imagine a heaven full of loved ones looking down upon you. A large pasture stretches out on his right, hitting a river on its eastern border and woodlands to the north, the forest full of autumn colors so vibrant that they could only be painted by the hand of God Himself. The wind is calm but the air holds a gentle chill, a pledge that a new season is coming and with it the chance for redemption and possibility; a time to heal old scars and the faith to dream again._

 _The sun soaks into the dark navy tee shirt covering his back as his faded blue jeans rustle with every stride, a soft whisper on the path as he follows Erin toward an enormous oak tree. The massive trunk stands eight feet tall and then wiggles to the right a bit before several thick arms reach out to the sides, supporting a million branches of all lengths and widths. A large knot in the shape of a fat lopsided heart sits about six feet above the roots._

 _Reaching the tree, Erin loosens her grip on the blanket in her arms and a gentle breeze awakens to unfurl it over the grass. Rick watches it spread into a bed of red and black squares divided by thin green and white lines._ _He helps to stretch out the edges until it lies in a perfect rectangle beneath the branches, its hem touching the base of the tree. Kicking off his sneakers, he sits down in the crook of two giant roots spread like fingers clutching the earth and disappearing deep into the grass._

 _Beautiful in a teal colored scoop-neck top with wide cuts at the shoulders that leave them bare, Erin steps between his feet and turns to face away from him. Giving him a wonderful view of her rear, encased snugly inside a pair of white Capri jeans, he guides her hips as she lowers herself to sit between his raised knees. She adjusts her seat upon the plaid blanket and he wraps his arms around her upper chest, pulling her gently to lean back against him._

 _He looks up to the thick branches spread out above them, crisscrossing in an assembly of vees and dotted with leaves that are waltzing with indecision between gold, green or red. "This is one huge tree that Carl dreamed up," he says, tightening his arms around Erin as he lowers his chin to rest against the silkiness of her hair._

" _It really is the one he'd dreamt of, isn't it?" she asks. "The first night we made love, right?"_

 _He thinks of the fat lopsided heart, now knotted just a few feet above his head. "Yeah, it most certainly is."_

" _I love it. It makes me feel safe," she replies, kicking off her sandals and squirming her feet against the blanket. "And I love how soft this blanket is."_

" _Mmm, it's nice, just like you." He presses his lips to the back of her head. "And like you – it also looks very Scottish."_

" _Yeah, it's a lot like the one my grandmother got for me when I was in the hospital. She said it reminded her of our family tartan and hoped it would give me strength."_

" _That's sweet." He squeezes her tightly as his throat thickens, thinking of the young girl who had to suffer through that terrible disease. "I'm so glad it worked," he says softly before pressing another kiss to her ear, imagining how empty his life would be if she hadn't survived her illness. He never realized just how much he was missing until they'd met. Sure, he'd lived his life and laughed a lot, but it was more a matter of going through the motions. He couldn't see it at the time, but his heart wasn't really in it, there was always something missing. The birth of his son had filled a big part of the emptiness, but there was still a hole that went untouched until Erin stepped inside it. And if he lost her now, he wouldn't be much different than all the walkers stumbling around with their listless bodies and stagnant hearts._

 _A soft quack echoes from a small nearby pond, pulling him out from his thoughts. In the circle of his arms, Erin turns her chin toward the sound._

" _Hey, is that our little friend again?"_

" _Sounds like him," he replies with a deeply contented sigh as he inhales the scent of her presence. "I guess he followed us here."_

" _Where is here, Rick?"_

" _I don't know exactly. But I'm sure it's the farm that Carl dreamt about."_

" _I like it. It's very peaceful here."_

" _It sure is, sweetheart," he replies and the duckling offers a robust quack in the distance, as if agreeing with them wholeheartedly._

* * *

Rick flips the sun visor up after making a right turn onto Old River Road, leading them east once more after backtracking the last ninety-three miles. After spending hours and hours to get near the coast, they'd made it all the way to Broadfield, a tiny town that sits on the bay, but the few bridges that weren't washed out completely were still too damaged to risk crossing. So they'd gone back sixty-eight miles to Baxley and then another twenty-five miles westward until they hit Hazlehurst, where they headed north and crossed the Altahama River on the two-laned blacktop of the Uvalda Highway.

His foot moves to step gently on the brake, again, when he sees the red lights brighten on the back of T-Dog's jeep. Turning the wheel slightly, he peers around the jeep to see Daryl's motorcycle circling around a fallen tree. Again. Rolling the van slowly around the obstacle, he can see Carl clearly in the back seat when his son pops up and turns around to wave a hand at him. Rick waves back with a smile and then with a twirl of his finger, commands the boy to face forward once more. A warm touch on his arm turns his attention to the woman next to him.

"I'm surprised you let Carl ride with T-Dog today," Erin says.

"He was so excited when Duane asked if they could, I just couldn't say no. I was about to, but he doesn't get to do any fun stuff these days," He glances across the console at her. "How could I say no?"

"I know. But it kind of goes against your control freak nature, doesn't it?"

"Oh yeah," he replies tightly. "But who's to say that he won't be safer in the jeep today than with us in the van? One thing's for sure, T-Dog will take care of him."

"Oh, no doubt. And it really did make Carl happy," Erin agrees, giving him an encouraging smile with a tender touch on his shoulder. "He'll be fine."

"I know. But Dale on the other hand, is not," Rick says, watching through the rearview mirror as the new RV, a thirty foot Class A Winnebago, tries to make its way through the narrowed space between the fallen tree and a telephone pole. Leafy twigs slow the progress of the large camper as they scrape and scratch the fender, but it's the thick branch buried inside the jumble of twigs that stops the camper in its tracks.

Rick taps the horn to emit two short beeps, alerting T-Dog and Daryl to stop. He shifts the van into park and climbs out to help with the obstruction as Erin steps out to keep watch. After retrieving his hatchet from the cargo space behind the third seat, he jogs toward the camper as Dale and Amy step down from the large vehicle.

A resounding chorus of doors opening and closing fills the air under the late afternoon sun, an all too familiar sound as the refugees leap from the vehicles stuck behind the trapped Winnebago. Morgan and Michonne jump out of the Honda and hustle into the yard of a small house across the street, ready to defend the caravan against the two walkers shuffling toward them from the back yard. Glenn follows Jesus into the driveway of the next-door neighbor to take care of another pair coming out of a detached garage; one tall middle-aged male with cloudy eyes and an ornery disposition stumbling forward as its mate, a white-eyed female with long stringy hair festooned with leaves and dirt, slithers along the blacktop, its hands grasping the ground and pulling the torso of its legless body along the asphalt. The incredibly shabby and sullied dress dragging on the ground looks to have been a bright cheerful yellow at one time, but now, covered in carnage and filth with deep dark bloodstains distorting the design, and shredded at a hemline that may have hung to her knees if she'd had any, it is hard to say exactly what the dress would have looked like with the price tag still on it. On the opposite side of the street, Daryl shoots an arrow into the snarling mouth of another putrid creature as it bumps innocuously along a white picket fence, its blackened brain unable to tell its ravaged body to step around it.

Rick reaches the downed tree just a moment before Aaron, who is armed with his own sharp axe. "Alright," he yells, just loud enough for his team to hear without alerting more walkers to their position. "Let's get this tree cut so we can keep moving!"

They've performed this ritual enough times today that they've gotten it down to a science, working together like a well-oiled machine; Erin keeps watch with Amy from the roof of the camper while Eugene sits at the table inside perusing alternate routes on the map opened up before him. Morgan, Michonne and Jesus team up with Glenn and Daryl on active duty, with the hunter staying close to the two vehicles between his motorcycle and the Winnebago – the two vehicles that are carrying the most precious cargo – while T-Dog, Aaron and Dale help Rick to clear whatever burden is blocking their path.

The fact that their merry band is growing is a good thing, but it does have its pros and cons. There is definitely strength in numbers, and those individual numbers that make up their group have proven incredibly valuable, but with such a large caravan of three SUV's, two huge campers and a big van, it also makes the travelling much more cumbersome, slowing down their progress greatly. It is especially slothful when maneuvering through streets ravished by a hurricane, the asphalt literally pulled up in places where tree roots were forced to release the earth and break through the surface of the roadway. But they've made it this far and Rick won't stop until they hit Savannah. He'll keep his group moving over whatever hurdle has been put in their path.

Two hours and several hatchet jobs later, the world is free of a few more walkers and Rick feels like they are finally making some headway on their journey. The landscape rolls by as they pick up speed, pushing the speedometer to fifty miles per hour as the road stretches out before him. Driving north on Kennedy Bridge Road, he is looking to make a right turn onto Old Manassas Foy Road toward the town of Adabelle, where, according to Eugene and a brief lesson on homonyms and the correct spelling of the town as opposed to the street – they can pick up Ada Bell Road to head eastward. With a huge wheat field on one side of the street and nothing but tall pine trees on the other, Rick eases off the gas as the road twists slightly to the right, and then closes in on the fifty mile per hour mark again when it lays long and flat once more. Through the back window of the jeep, he can just make out the very top of Carl's head, listing a little to the left and most likely asleep.

Maybe he'll stay asleep until they reach the coast, which should only be another hour or so. That is if the roads are perfectly passable. The way things have been going, there will be more trees to clear and floods to navigate, making the trek much longer than usual. But maybe only twice as long as opposed to quadruple that since the storm damage seems to be less severe up here. It looks like the towns south of St. Catherines took the brunt of the hurricane.

"It looks like this area didn't get hit as hard," Erin says and Rick smiles in her direction, taking comfort in their connection once again as she seems to be tuned into his mind. "Maybe we'll get to Savannah by the time Carl wakes up," she adds, echoing his thoughts exactly.

"It's definitely clearer up here. Maybe we'll get lucky the rest of the way," he replies just before the Jeep's brake lights blink a few times in front of them.

"Or not." Erin shifts in her seat, leaning closer to the windshield. "Looks like he's stopping again."

Rick taps on his own brake pedal to stay a safe distance behind the jeep. He coasts along the pavement waiting to see the steady shine of T-Dogs brakes, signaling the site of another blockage. But when the jeep maintains its slow but steady speed, he knows that the motorcycle in front of it is just slowing down the lead. "No, Daryl is just looking for that turnoff. We've got to be getting close now."

"Oh good."

Less than a minute later, he applies the brakes as they near a sign standing at the corner of a wide two-lane road that reads Old Manassas Foy. "There it is." He hears Erin breathe the sigh of relief that he himself had been holding. He steers the van onto the back country road that cuts through a heavily wooded area, and then watches his rearview mirror to make sure the rest of the caravan has followed along. As soon as Glenn makes the turn with the pickup truck, Rick presses harder on the gas to catch up to T-Dog and Daryl. So far the street looks clear, the trees set back far enough from the roadway that the ones that had fallen victim to the storm are still well beyond the shoulder.

Easing back up to fifty miles per hour, he presses the switch to lower his window another two inches, bringing it to just about halfway open in hopes of stealing some more fresh air from the countryside. Erin coughs softly next to him, not a throat-clearing cough, but a small inconspicuous attention-getter. He glances over and sees her half-drawn window rising two inches in its frame, putting back the space he had taken.

When he hears a familiar tune emanating from behind the teasing smirk on her lips, he bites back a retort about busting his chops and can't help but grin at the off-key humming of Springsteen's 'Rendezvous', reminding him of their little excursion to the cabin. He reaches over to firmly squeeze her knee with teasing affection and she hums louder, making him wish they hadn't left the CD in Morgan's Honda. He opens his mouth to tell her just that, and closes it with a teeth clashing flinch as he slams the brakes, the echo of a gunshot raging in his ears as he watches the jeep carrying his son swerve drastically before flipping over and over in front of him, rolling in a stir of twisted metal along the back road of Adabelle.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter Forty-six

In a small rural town about sixty miles west of Savannah, Rick stands at the window of a first floor bedroom, gazing out at a landscape that he is too numb to actually see. The rolling fields before him belong to one of the many farms that make up Adabelle, a rustic town with modest standards and no stoplights. The beauty of the scenery is lost on him. He doesn't see the gentle slopes of the terrain as dusk paints a golden hue on the green fields. He can only envision the boy lying in another room under the scalpel of a white-haired stranger.

The blood stains of today's events are invisible against the dark fabric of his black jeans, but his light gray tee shirt reveals the heartbreaking trauma of the afternoon like a badge of dishonor. He can't get the sound of screeching brakes and screaming metal out of his head, or the sight of the big man racing out of the woods with a rifle in his hands and regret in his eyes. The smell of the tires burning into the asphalt still clings to his nostrils, and he can still feel the grip of the steering wheel as he'd clutched it with his elbows locked and his foot to the floor, skidding to a bumpy stop as he'd watched the jeep roll again and again before coming to land on its side. He can still picture the rear tire spinning in the sun as time stood still, his paralyzed mind unable to focus on anything but the wheel's dirty black rubber going round and round, like the hands of a clock ticking away the seconds of a life in an incredibly swift race to a final breath. And he can still feel the weight of the axe handle as he'd furiously driven it into the thick branches of the sycamore tree that had dared to block his path from some desperately needed medical treatment.

He can still hear T-Dog's soft but exuberant voice around the crackle of the campfire as he'd told a funny story about a mission trip with the kids in his church. He can still see the proud smile on his friend's face when Carl had shown him a drawing of the quarry. And he can still see the gracious light in his eyes when he'd more recently said ' _Sure, you guys can ride with me_.'

Standing in the bedroom of the big farmhouse, Rick gazes unseeing out the window as he weeps internally for the loss of another dear friend, a good man who certainly did not deserve to die today, and the fate of an injured young boy in the hands of a retired veterinarian.

Although he couldn't comprehend it at the time it was happening, he can see it clearly now, reliving it over and over and still trying to make sense of it all. He knows what happened, but he still can't make sense of it. Since it doesn't make sense, he can't give meaning to it. And if it was a meaningless act, he has to take responsibility for it since he was the one who put them on that road, at that moment, in harm's way.

Of course he didn't do it deliberately to hurt anyone, but he did it all the same. It may not make sense, but he understands what happened. He knows, now, that a local farmhand named Otis missed the deer he was aiming to shoot and struck T-Dog in the head, killing him instantly. He knows that the two boys were thrown about and badly injured. He knows that Otis led them to this farm to get help from an elderly man named Hershel Greene. And he knows that Hershel is a doctor who treats animals, not people.

He knows that they are all way in over their heads and he can't make sense of any of it.

Standing in Hershel's home now, his hands are empty, his mind is numb, his heart is heavy and his eyes are moist as he waits for word from the operating room; another small bedroom in the back of the big farmhouse. The veterinarian and his family seem like good people, but are they good enough to save a boy's life? And with limited supplies?

The boy in the bed behind him snores softly, his left arm elevated on a pillow and encased in a splint from his palm to his elbow, protecting the badly sprained wrist inside. Carl had been terribly shaken and pretty banged up, but Otis's wife Patricia had put him at ease, telling a funny story of how Hershel's daughter, Beth, had sprained her own wrist a few years back. The story effectively took his mind off his suffering while she'd treated his hand, iced his bruised ribs and cleaned his few scrapes. Thank God that was all he had needed.

If only Duane had been so lucky.

Standing at the window, Rick can't see anything through the glass except Morgan's son lying motionless on the ground after being thrown from the jeep, the lower part of his right leg bent at a severe angle and blood oozing from a deep cut above his right ear.

When Erin walks into the room after assisting with Duane's surgery, Rick doesn't see the bloodied handprints streaked across the thighs of her gray denim jeans, or the neckline of her white tank top soiled with sweat from her labors. He is vaguely aware of her presence but he is too caught up in his own painful guilt to fully commit to her company… until he feels her touch. The arms slipping around his waist anchor him to her soul as the heat of her chest against his back pulls him back to the present – the relentlessly unforgiving present. He covers her hands with his as her cheek warms the tightly knotted spot between his shoulder blades.

Her voice is soft in the quiet room as Carl continues to drowse. "Hershel set his leg and stitched his head. There isn't anything else to do now but wait."

"Did…" His voice scratches through a very dry throat and he swallows hard to find some moisture before continuing. "Did he ever wake up?"

"Not fully, no."

"I hate this."

"I know, babe. Hopefully he'll wake up soon. We couldn't detect any internal injuries so there's no reason that he shouldn't."

"What about that bump on his head?"

"Most likely a concussion. But it shouldn't keep him from waking up. His body just needs time to heal now."

 _Time._ It seems like all they have these days is time; Time to pass, time to kill, time to remember, time to forget. So much and so little all at the same _time_.

"Patricia said Carl's wrist should heel completely," Erin tells him. "She got the splint on with no problem."

Rick nods his head slowly as a weary grunt rattles his throat, still too numb to form the words he really wants to say; _When will this nightmare end?_

Her arms tighten around his middle. "Are you okay, honey?"

"Yeah." He turns his chin toward her, speaking quietly over his shoulder. "Will you stay with Carl? I want to go check on Morgan."

"Of course. Maybe you can check on Glenn too. Hershel's daughter Maggie is with him but he's really upset. He and T-Dog were very close."

"Of course." Walking away, he feels the weight of another troubled soul resting soundly on his shoulders.

Carl groans softly in his sleep. Rick shifts his position in the chair next to the daybed, leaning forward as he watches his son's eyes flutter open and closed again. When he'd sat with Morgan an hour ago, Duane had moaned fitfully in his sleep as well, breaking Rick's heart while Morgan stomped on it, glaring at him with thick accusation for ever talking him into leaving the small house in King County. Very few words were spoken, but the message came through loud and clear. He'd left the room after a short visit, a soft somber groan accompanying his exit – from father or son, he did not know.

Now, he watches his own son turn his head on the pillow as his eyes open fully, meeting his own blue gaze in the dim lamplight. "Hey, buddy." He reaches over to place a warm palm against Carl's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Fuzzy."

"That's the painkiller that Hershel gave you," Rick tells him, referring to the three tablets of Motrin drifting through his system.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, bud?"

"Do you think T-Dog might see Shane and Mom in heaven, or would he be in a totally different part up there?"

"What? You mean you don't think Mom is still down here looking for you?" Rick asks gently, somewhat shocked at his son's question.

"No. I know she's watching me from up there. And I know you tried to tell me the truth. And I know why you lied."

"You do?"

"Yeah, but you don't have to protect me anymore. Not from the truth anyway."

Rick swallows thickly, repressing a cough that holds a deep sense of pride suffused with profound regret. Carl has grown so much in the last few weeks. He's still so young, but forced to grow up so incredibly fast. Speechless, Rick strokes his son's dark hair and is relieved when Erin walks into the room – until he notices the expression of sadness on her face. "What is it?" he asks, fearing the worst as Hershel walks in behind her. He stands to face them, his body instinctively moving to protect his child from anything that might hurt him.

"Duane is not responding to any outside stimuli now," Hershel says softly, in the gentle way of old country doctors that have asked for very little and seen too much.

"He's dead?" Carl asks, his voice sounding very small and very scared.

Rick shuffles back as Erin rushes to Carl's side, sitting on the edge of the bed at the boy's hip. He watches her place a tender hand on his son's head, echoing the pose he had struck just a few moments before.

"No, sweetheart," she says quickly. "He's still alive, but he's slipped into a coma."

"A coma? Like Dad?"

"Yeah, honey, just like your daddy was. Duane's body needs to rest itself so it can heal."

"Can I see him?"

Carl's misty eyes and quivering lip squeezes Rick's heart as his son looks to him for permission. He turns to the doctor standing just inside the doorway, deferring the question to him with an eyebrow raised over a weary expression. Hershel steps to the foot of the bed, lifting a hand with a white piece of cloth flowing over his fingers.

"Come on, son," the elderly man says. "Let's get this sling on your arm and then I'll take you to him."

Once the sling is in place to support Carl's injured arm, Rick watches his son limp slowly out of the room, stepping gingerly on his left knee while Hershel guides him with a steady hand on his shoulder. Turning back to the window, Rick presses the heels of his fists into his eyes to erase the painful image of his wounded son. "Christ, this fucking nightmare never ends," he mutters, leaning his elbows on the window frame and fighting the urge to put his fist through the glass.

Erin sniffles softly behind him. "We should go check on the others. They must be terrified."

A tempest of exhaustion and anger and fear and frustration collides with a whirlwind of regret. In a blind rage of torment, he reels on her. "Well maybe I'm terrified too!" he hollers. "But I can't show that in front of them!" He swings his arm to the side in an aggravated arc as his heart pounds furiously inside his chest.

Erin scurries to the door and closes it tightly before turning back to face him. The expression on her face is a blend of equal parts shock, hurt and anger, but the main ingredient is a healthy dose of compassion.

He doesn't register any of the emotions staring back at him. His vision is blurred by misery and he can't see beyond his own failures. "Do you know how hard it is to be the strong one _ALL_ the time? To show confidence in my decisions so people won't second guess anything? It's fucking exhausting! But we have to be united in everything we do in order to stay strong. In order to survive! We're all in this together, God help me."

"You don't have to be strong in front of me," she says gently, reaching a hand toward him.

A hard flinch lifts his shoulder as he pulls away from her. "The hell I don't! They follow your lead as much as mine, watch your reaction to gage their own. If you don't trust me, neither would they. I didn't ask for this. You put me here!"

"Maybe you didn't ask for it, Rick, but you were born for it," she replies with just a little bit of heat to her tone. "And I won't apologize for any part I played in putting you there."

"It's too much," he says, feeling completely defeated. "I can't take it anymore."

"None of this is your fault, honey. Nobody is blaming you."

"Of course they are! Morgan especially and rightfully so."

"He's upset and needs someone to direct his frustration at," she replies. "You just happen to be an easy target, especially since he's known you the longest."

"Yeah," he sneers, unable to keep the derision from his voice. "And now he's regretting the day I ever crossed his path."

"I don't believe that for a second," she responds with a fire in her eyes. "And deep down, neither do you."

He watches her turn and cross to the door. When it begins to open, he realizes that she is about to walk out and his heart falters as a new fear takes hold, clearing the painful haze that had been clouding his vision. He rushes over and places one hand firmly on the door and the other on the wall, keeping her from walking away. "I'm sorry, honey." He hangs his head until he is literally breathing down her neck. "Don't leave me. I can't do this without you. Please don't ever leave me."

She leans back into him with the comforting touch of her shoulders against his chest. He feels the warmth of her hands curling around his thighs, bridging the gulf he'd created between them. She lifts her chin at an upward angle and softly says, "You're never getting rid of me."

A long restless breath seeps from his chest as she steadies his world once again. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm just so fucking tired." With his arms still braced on the door and the wall, he lowers his head to rest on her shoulder.

She turns within his arms and he leans back to give her room. Lifting her hands to frame his face, she meets his eyes with the most compassionate expression he's ever seen. "You don't have to apologize, Rick. And you don't have to be strong in front of me. I'll still follow you to the ends of the earth."

"Come here." He pulls her into a deep embrace that both rocks his world and stabilizes his soul all in the same breath. "I love you, Red."

"I love you back," she whispers into his neck before pulling back to meet his gaze again. In a voice filled with a conviction that supports the sheen of fierce loyalty in her eyes, she adds, "Always."


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: Many thanks to my lovely reviewers! Please let me know what you think of this one...**

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Chapter Forty-seven

Theodore 'T-Dog' Douglas was buried beneath a tall Hickory tree in a quiet corner of the Greene family farm. The morning dew had glistened under a benevolent sky as soft words were spoken of honor, friendship and generosity. Tears had fallen solemnly as a life was remembered. Now three hours later, another life is cherished as Rick leans against the doorframe of a small bedroom and watches a seriously injured boy open his eyes on a bright new day.

A veil of confusion clouds Duane's expression as he looks at his father. Rick's breath catches in his suddenly dry throat as he sees the boy's eyebrows angle downward in a somewhat frustrated visage, as if he is having trouble putting his thoughts together. The thick white bandage wrapped around his head seems like a disguise, masking the true personality of the boy they knew. O _h God, was he out for too long? Does he have permanent damage?_ A fissure of ice grates along his spine beneath the black and white checks of his button-up shirt. He straightens in the doorway and wipes his damp palms against his favorite black jeans, so thoroughly worn they appear more of a dark gray now.

"Duane?" Morgan says his son's name ever so gently, a question clinging to the dust that floats in a sunbeam streaming through the window above the bed. Time stands still as they wait for a sign of recognition, a hopeful response…

"Daddy?"

 _Oh thank God!_ Rick releases a long-held breath as immeasurable relief weighs heavily behind his eyes.

"Yeah, son," Morgan says, reaching a hand to his son's cheek. "I'm right here."

"My leg hurts, Daddy," Duane says, his voice low and groggy but coherent enough to dispel their fears.

Rick blinks back the tears as he sees the moisture leaking from Morgan's eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing hard in his dark throat.

"I know," Morgan replies gently and then tucks his emotions away with a hard sniffle. "You busted it up pretty good but Hershel fixed it up for you."

"What happened? Where are we?"

"You were in a car accident, and now we're at a farm owned by…"

Morgan's voice fades as Rick runs up to the second floor to retrieve the owner of the farm. "Hershel!" When he follows the veterinarian back down the stairs a moment later, his focus gets snared on a pool of sunlight spilling in through the sitting room window and spotlighting a familiar looking blanket. Folded over the back of a chair, the thin white stripes that are outlining blocks of red and black squares are glowing in the sun, highlighting a pattern that closely resembles that of the tartan of his own sexy Scott. _Sweet baby Jesus_. Moving quickly down the stairs, he runs out to the porch and scans the area in front of the house. Beyond a wood and wire fence about a hundred yards from the front steps, a tall windmill turns slowly through a quiet breeze. Though he must have seen it earlier in a peripheral glance, its significance had not registered until this moment. "My God, that's Carl's windmill," he murmurs as a grin takes shape on his face. He looks to the left of the structure in search of another object from his son's dream. Disappointment creeps into his chest when he doesn't see anything extraordinary. He turns to the right and walks to the end of the porch, his heart barely beating as his breath holds onto a thin strand of hope. Gazing around the corner, he finally sees it; a huge tree with a funny little wiggle standing proudly at the edge of a vast pasture. He exhales deeply and tilts his chin to the heavens as his eyes fall closed. _Thank you._ "Erin." He breathes her name as he turns back to the front door. After two strides his excitement has his legs pumping to a quick jog, racing to share this discovery with her. He hadn't seen her all morning and now he feels like an addict going through withdrawal.

Immediately after the funeral she had gone to the stable with Maggie to help with the horses and drown her sorrows in the muck of the stalls. While she had sought to seek relief in the physical labor, he had drifted numbly between Carl's room and Duane's, and the tents that the others had pitched between the two campers and a small cluster of trees just inside the fence, a respectful distance from the house. He'd wandered and waited and worried, agonizing over the things that were beyond his control.

Stepping into the house, he glances to the right and sees Erin following Maggie out of the kitchen with a radiant smile that extinguishes the darkness of the last twenty-four hours. With her freshly shampooed hair falling in damp red curls over her shoulders, leaving small patches of wet on his white tee shirt, she feels like warm sunshine kissing the springtime dew after a terribly long winter. Her khaki jeans fit her form like a glove, hugging her curves below the loose hem of his oversized shirt. She looks earthy and fresh and welcoming. Like coming home.

"Rick, he's awake!"

He moves to the side to let Maggie go by and reaches for Erin's hand. "I know, sweetheart. Come here," he says, pressing his lips to her temple and then turning back toward the door.

"Where are we going? What about Duane?"

"Duane's good, honey. He's gonna be fine." He leads her out of the house and pulls her along the porch to the right. "Come on, I want to show you something." Standing at the corner of the wraparound, he lays one arm across her shoulders and stretches the other out toward the pasture. Bending his knees, he leans down to match her eye level. "Look over there. What do you see?"

"A big empty field."

"No, not completely empty." A few seconds tick on and then he hears the catch of her breath.

"Oh my God, is that our tree?"

"Oh wait, I forgot something else. Stay here," he says, already turning to race back to the sitting room. He grabs the plaid blanket from the chair and nearly trips over a basket of magazines in his haste to get back to her.

Returning to her side, he presents the folded blanket slowly, reverently, as if he were showing her a swaddled infant to be carefully treasured. "Look what I found in Hershel's house."

The expression of awe on her face matches the feeling that had swelled in his chest when he'd first seen it himself. "Sweet baby Jesus."

He chuckles with a proud grin. "My thoughts exactly."

"Rick, that's the blanket from our dream. Isn't it?" she asks, stroking the material with a gentle hand.

"Yeah," he says slowly. "I think we sat on this blanket under that tree out there."

"Oh my God."

"Come on." He takes her hand and leads her down off the porch, making a beeline for the big oak tree. He can't take his eyes off of it. Every step is a step closer to happiness. He feels it in the marrow of his bones. With her hand in his and the plaid blanket tucked securely under his arm, this moment actually is a dream come true.

"Wait," Erin says with a grain of skepticism as they near the tree. "It doesn't look right. Something is different."

"I know," he replies, looking for the fat knot of the lopsided heart. "Hang on." He pulls her to the right side of the massive trunk and smiles at the darkened wood about six feet up from the roots.

"There it is!" she exclaims with infectious delight as she squeezes his hand beneath the tall branches.

He spreads the blanket on the ground and then steps onto its center with his open palms extended, beckoning her to join him. She lays both hands in his and he pulls them up to his chest. "Okay, Red, first things first." He clears his throat in respect for the magnitude of the moment. "Erin, it took me twenty-six years to find you, but on the day you were born, my soul was given its mate. You were created for me and you'll never know how grateful I am for that. Nothing would mean more to me now than the honor of calling you my wife." He falls slowly to one knee and watches her eyes shimmer with a tearful smile. "Will you marry me?"

"Oh, honey," she whispers through her tears. "With all my heart, yes." She drops down to her knees and throws her arms around his neck. "I love you."

He holds her tight against his chest, feeling the beat of her heart keeping perfect rhythm with his. "I love you back, honey. So much it hurts."

She leans back with a nod of her chin and then presses her forehead to his as her fingers curl into his dark hair. Sniffling with a warm smile, she softly says, "No love has ever hurt so good, but I promise I will do everything I can to ease the pain."

"Me too, sweetheart. Always." He presses his lips to hers to seal the oath. "Now," he says, rubbing his hands tenderly along her back. "Who will we get to marry us?"

"Well, in Scotland they used to do something called 'handfast'."

"Isn't that some kind of wiccan thing?"

"Not originally, no. I think I read somewhere that the Highlanders started it centuries ago because the clans were so spread out and the priests rarely came up from the lowlands," she explains. "So a couple would have their own private ceremony, securing their hands with a few strips of cloth and vowing their love to each other. That's all it took for them to be considered married for a lifetime. Or they could consider themselves engaged and then have another big ceremony a year and a day later."

Listening to her story, he realizes that they are very much like the old Highlanders, all spread out. "I want a lifetime," he says slowly, drawing out the words like the promise he means them to be, breathing life into each syllable as he pours his heart into her hands. Rising to his feet and pulling her up along with him, he reaches into his back pocket for the bandanna that Daryl had given him a few days before. "Alright," he says with a nod as he holds up the red cloth to their linked hands; his left clutching her right. Silently, she takes the end and winds it several times around their wrists until there is just enough left to work together in tying the two corners, binding their wrists securely in place. Together.

With profound emotion building up and filling his senses, his entire world is narrowed down to one oak tree and the woman standing in its shade; the touch of her hands in his, the sight of her face as she gazes up at him with unconditional love, the smell of her own sweet essence that has never failed to guide him home, the sound of her breathing at this very moment - along with the echo of every breath she had ever taken as she lay in his arms, and the taste of her body that is forever suffused into his tongue after so many tender nights of feeding his soul.

The farm disappears along with the ravaged world beyond it. They could be standing on the edge of a quarry or next to a big willow tree. He blinks and for a moment, they _are_ standing by a big willow tree overlooking a small peaceful lake, the ties of the bandana that unites them in matrimony swaying lightly in a gentle breeze. He blinks again as the soft quack of a duckling fades away and they are back inside the shadow of the big oak tree. He swallows hard and opens his heart. Completely.

"Erin Butler, I take you as my wife, my lover, my partner in every sense. I swear I will treasure you with all my heart and protect you with my body. I promise to earn your respect, and give it tenfold in return. I promise to make you laugh… even when I make you mad." He can't keep his mouth from curving up at one corner as his eyes flicker with a glimmer of mirth. His heart flips when she smiles brightly up at him, joy dancing in her own eyes. Again, he swallows the emotion thickening his throat and leans closer to convey everything that she means to him. "I will hold you dear," he says softly, reverently, "And I will love you with every ounce of my soul." Lowering his head, he kisses the back of her hand, sealing his vow as her husband.

He watches her eyes glisten with tears of endearment. She blinks them away but the sincerity in their depths still shines bright. "Richard Grimes, I take you as my husband. You are my lover, my best friend and partner, and I swear to cherish you for the rest of my days." She lowers her gaze to his chin and pulls her bottom lip through her teeth. He can envision the inner workings of her mind as she takes a moment to shape her thoughts into the words that will make her his wife. When she looks up again, her expression is open, honest, and affectionate. "I will protect your heart, value your strength and forgive your faults." Compassion floods her eyes on the last three words and his throat tightens even more. "I will make you laugh, ease your pain, and dry your tears with utmost respect." She sniffles softly and swallows hard. "I will hold you dear…" Her voice breaks and her tears cause his own vision to shimmer behind a cerulean wave. He blinks hard to clear the moisture and releases a long emotional breath, steadying them both with a tender smile. She shakes her own tears away with another sniffle and looks at him with solemn conviction in her gaze. "And I will love you with every ounce of my soul."

He leans down to meet her lips when she lifts her chin to him, but his pucker finds nothing but air when she pulls back suddenly. "What?"

"Wait, we need a broom!" she cries.

"What for? Isn't this the part where I get to kiss my bride to seal the deal?"

"No. I mean yes, but we need to jump the broom first. Or in this case – a stick."

He watches her reach over her head with her free hand to grasp a long thin sprig extending off of a thicker branch. He grabs it at the base to aid her effort and she breaks it off with a grunt followed by a soft apology to the tree.

"Now what?" he asks, enjoying the look of determination on her face.

"Hold it for a second." She snaps off the shoots that are protruding from the tip with a scattering of Spring leaves. "Okay… here." She lays the bare stick on the ground at their feet and then rises with a transcendent smile aimed right at his heart.

 _God she's beautiful_. She radiates pure love as she holds his gaze and he feels like the luckiest man that has ever walked the earth. _Please let me be worthy of her love._ Emotions run rampant again as he sees her eyes well up with tenderness.

"I love you, Rick."

"Thank God," he says softly as he lifts her hand to feel the warmth of it against his cheek. Moving her hand to his mouth, he kisses her knuckle with a solemnly whispered, "I love you back."

She sniffles once and breathes deep. "Okay, this is considered a leap of faith for working together through tough times ahead."

"Sounds good to me. Ready?"

"On three. As high as we can."

He bends his knees and on her third count he takes a leap of faith for the hope of many years together. Tough times naturally come with the territory of any marriage, but coupled with surviving an apocalypse where times are abundantly tough on a daily basis, their love will be put to the test again and again. In the span of the one heartbeat that he is airborne, he remembers that her leg still isn't completely healed from the snakebite and all the uncertainty of the ravaged world slithers into the space between his boots and the grass. In the breadth of a millisecond, he feels completely off-balance as anxiety rears its dreaded head. But when his feet land on the other side of the stick, the ground is solid beneath him and Erin's hand is warm and reassuring as she stands surefooted at his side, steadying his world once again. They are in this together. In sickness and in health, in good times and bad. Together. _Thank Christ._

As soon as she straightens, glowing like the bride she was meant to be – his bride, with her veil of auburn curls and the hem of his large white tee shirt billowing in the breeze as it hangs loosely on her thin frame, her grace bringing an elegance to the cotton that could rival the lacy train of a fancy wedding dress, he turns toward her and reaches his free hand to cup her joyously grinning cheek. "Come here, Mrs. Grimes." He covers her mouth with tenderness, loving her with a kiss that is slow and deep and meaningful; a promise to get her through those future rough times with honor and devotion.

When he finally releases her, he pulls her into a tight one-armed embrace with their other hands still linked and tucked between them. Lifting his head, the farm comes back into view over her shoulder. A wide spread of green surrounds them as the windmill continues its steady cycle. He thinks of his son and the dream that he'd told them about.

"Honey," Erin says into the crook of his neck. "I feel bad that Carl wasn't part of this."

"Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing."

"He said the dream had everyone around us. Now I feel like we cheated him."

"I know," he replies, pulling back to meet her eyes. "Look, I'm really glad we did it this way, with just the two of us…"

"But maybe we could have another ceremony that includes the others."

He presses his lips softly to hers, a gentle kiss that carries all the sincerity in his soul. "Thank you." _For everything._


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter Forty-eight

A small lantern glows softly from the nightstand, throwing muted light onto the framed landscape and horse sketches looking out from the pale blue walls of the upstairs guest bedroom. In the center of the room, a full-sized bed sits beneath a thin summer blanket of soft lavender splashed with streaks of turquoise blue. The pretty headboard matches the large washed-oak dresser and armoire, where a black duffel bag lies in a pale puddle of light in the corner between the two pieces of furniture. Like the aching scrape of an old man's bones, the well-worn floorboard creaks beneath Erin as she shifts her weight from one knee to the other. With her red tee shirt hanging from one hand, she rifles through her duffel bag in search of something else to sleep in. Something… nicer. Or at least something different from the same old shirt that Rick has seen her in just about every night since they'd met.

She glances at the dresser a few feet away, and wonders if Maggie might have anything in her own drawers suitable for a honeymoon. She is tempted to dash down the hall for a quick peek, but she would never invade the woman's privacy that way. It's too bad they aren't scavenging an empty house where discretion and scruples take a back seat to the first-come-first-serve rules of survival. But the Greene's have been extremely generous, allowing her and Rick to take the guestroom while Carl sleeps in Beth's bedroom next door, and that's a trust she will not betray, especially since Maggie was the one who'd talked her father into bestowing such generosity.

If only she had the guts to ask Maggie for something outright. But she had never been one to brazenly approach an intimate subject and she isn't about to start now. Especially since they hadn't even told any of the others about their newlywed status, wanting to keep it to themselves for just a little while.

They had spent the afternoon on horseback, checking the perimeter fences and keeping an eye out for Nellie, a horse that had apparently run off a few days earlier. Hershel hadn't been too worried about the mare, telling them that she would find her way back eventually, as usual. But they seized the opportunity to spend a little quiet time together while doing something useful. So they'd mounted up and headed out, Rick on a big black stallion and Erin on a creamy gold mare with the bandana that had joined their wrists now looped loosely around her neck.

It may not have been a traditional wedding reception, but it was peaceful and perfect and she enjoyed every moment of it. Rick had even given her a little taste of romance when he drew his horse close to hers and leaned over from his saddle to kiss her tenderly. She had broken it off quickly, as her palomino had started to move away, but she threw a grin of seduction over her shoulder that promised to continue the conversation later, when she wasn't straddling a moving hulk of horseflesh. Which brings her back to the garment in her hand; the completely unsexy garment dripping drearily from her fingertips. She lifts her head with a start, a trickle of guilt warming her cheeks as Maggie's voice rises with the footsteps ascending the stairs.

"Beth, don't forget Daddy wants you to bring up those extra towels from Patricia."

Beth's short reply ricochets off the front porch railing in the exasperated tone of a teenager on the brink of being embarrassed in front of her friends. "I know!"

The friends in this case, Erin believes, are Rick and Daryl, standing on the porch at the end of their shift – after convincing Hershel that it would be unwise not to keep a constant guard. She had seen Beth earlier on her way in from the barn, and couldn't help but notice the way the teenager was smiling at Daryl with a touch of yearning in her youthful expression, which her father would surely disapprove. Thankfully, the quiet hunter didn't seem to know that the girl existed. Erin can imagine him now, down on the porch with Rick as they talk to Aaron and Jesus before turning the night watch over to them. He'll be listening to the voices of the men, focused on the protection of his pack, and completely oblivious to the young girl sitting on the porch swing with teenage notions of romance in her eyes.

Like the romantic night Erin herself is dreaming of having with her groom… if only she had something remotely romantic to wear.

Another step creaks near the top of the staircase.

 _Oh what the hell, don't we deserve a proper wedding night?_ With the clock ticking away the minutes until Rick comes up to bed, she scurries to the hall before she can rethink her decision. "Uh, Maggie?"

"Yeah, Erin. What's up?" Maggie replies, her green eyes smiling under the light of the ceiling fixture at the top of the staircase, one of the few light fixtures still hooked up to steal a bit of juice from the gas generator behind the farmhouse.

While most of the house sits in shadows after dusk, a few strategically placed lamps are kept in service to keep the darkest of nights from closing in.

"Well, first, thanks again for letting us sleep up here. I don't know if I could take another night on the floor next to Carl's bed."

"No problem." Maggie places an armful of folded blankets inside the linen closet next to the bathroom door. "It'll be like the sleepovers that Beth and I used to do when we were kids, except that she'd always insisted on staying in her room. It'll be fun to have her in my room for a change."

"Oh, I hope she doesn't mind."

"Not at all. Did you find the sheets okay? There are flannel ones in the other closet if you'd rather have them. But it may be too warm for those tonight."

"No, the purple sheets are fine, thank you. But can I ask you for something else? Something kind of… personal?" Erin asks softly as her shoulders lift in a slightly awkward shrug, her cheekbones growing warm once again.

"Sure," Maggie replies quietly, her face suddenly etched with concern. "What is it?"

"Um, I was just wondering if you had something I could… sleep in. Something kind of… pretty. If not, no big deal," she adds quickly, immediately regretting her decision. "I'll just use my tee shirt again. Never mind."

"No, no, no, I've got a drawer full of stuff that I'll probably never wear again, seeing how the world is spinning these days. Seems kind of frivolous now."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Forget I mentioned it."

"You want to wear something for Rick? He's your boyfriend, right?"

Erin stifles a nervous chuckle but she can't help the deliriously happy smirk that lifts the corner of her mouth. "Actually, he's kind of my husband now."

"Kind of?" Maggie asks, giving her a look of incomprehension.

"Well, we sort of got married today," Erin admits, confiding in the dark haired girl.

"What? Here? Oh, my God!"

Erin laughs at her new friends excitement, then proceeds to tell her about the private ceremony that she and Rick had shared just hours before.

"Holy crow, that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard. And no, you cannot wear a worn out tee shirt to bed on your wedding night. Let's see what I've got in my bag of tricks. Come on."

Erin follows Maggie into her bedroom and kneels at her side as she pulls out the bottom drawer of a white lacquered dresser. She watches the young woman rifle through garments of satin and lace of varying colors, mostly made up of bright vibrant hues that match her personality. Seeing a swatch of deep burgundy lace that she thinks Rick will like, Erin reaches down to pull it from the drawer when Maggie suddenly stands up, thwarting her goal.

"Here it is," Maggie exclaims, holding the thin straps of a very pale pink nightie.

Erin rises to her feet and Maggie holds the pretty garment up against her frame, letting the smooth satin fall to the middle of her thighs. She takes the straps from Maggie's fingers and lets her guide her toward the full length mirror on the back of the closet door. Studying her reflection in the glass, she can practically feel Rick's hands gliding over the satin covering her hips to reach the hem swaying against her thigh. She can feel the hot moisture from his mouth as he suckles her breast just below the lace trim that will reveal several inches of cleavage. She can feel the whisper of the soft material against her belly as he slips the nightie from her shoulders to pool at her feet. "It's perfect," she breathes, still lost in her erotic thoughts until Maggie's voice pulls her back to the woman's bedroom.

"He's going to love it, Erin."

Erin smiles brightly and then embraces her new friend, surprising them both at first until Maggie gives her a squeeze that feels as natural as if it had come from a close relative. "Thank you."

When she releases the woman, Maggie steps back and grabs her left hand, holding it up between them. "What did you do for a -, you don't have a ring?"

The question comes out as a statement at the obvious lack of a band on her ring finger.

"Well, no. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing and we didn't have anything to exchange."

"Hang on."

Erin watches Maggie's retreating form as she darts into the hallway. A minute later the woman returns with a dark cherrywood jewelry box about fourteen inches long and eight inches deep. Considering the masculine look of the box, Erin assumes it belongs to her father.

Maggie sets the box on the dresser and lifts the rectangular lid, revealing a tray of ten small compartments holding an assortment of items, both masculine and feminine. The pieces clink against each other as she seems to search for something specific. "Here," she finally announces, holding her opened palm out to Erin and revealing five shiny bands; three silver and two gold.

"Where did they all come from?" Erin asks, reverently tracing a fingertip over a narrow sterling silver band with a well-worn design that resembles the thin branches of a familiar tree.

"That one belonged to my mom. The others were from my Daddy's parents and my aunt and uncle."

"It's beautiful."

"See if it fits."

"No, Maggie, I couldn't."

"Please, Erin. She'd love you to have it. I want you to have it."

"Maggie, your father wouldn't want to part with it. Thank you, but I can't."

"He told me once that I could have it when I got married, that he didn't need it because it's just a piece of metal in a box. It's not the original one he gave her on their wedding day. She'd lost that one and he replaced it with this on their anniversary one year. He was never happy with that one because it scratched so easily, especially working on the farm."

Erin leans down to get a better look at the ring and realizes that what she'd thought was part of the design was actually a series of scratches in the metal, widening the original pattern of interwoven lines that create a string of connected vees. The scratches just give it a more intricate look.

"Daddy told me," Maggie continues, "that he didn't need it but I should keep it."

"And you should."

"But I'd rather have my own wedding band, a gold one. Though it doesn't look like I'll be in the market for one anytime soon," Maggie says with a soft roll of her eyes. "But your friend Glenn is really cute so feel free to put in a good word for me," she adds with a hopeful smile and Erin sees that it is her friend's turn to blush. "Honestly though, you'll be doing me a favor if you took this ring now. Really."

"I don't know, Maggie."

"Tell you what, try it on and if it fits, it was meant to be."

Erin looks down at the ring, still pretty despite the scratches. Without lifting it to her finger, she already knows that it will fit.


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N I now pronounce them man and wife. Now on to the honeymoon! I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it (any time I can conjure up naked Rick is tremendously enjoyable for me!). Thanks so much to my wonderful reviewers. I hope I've lived up to Carollee's sexpectations here. ;) Let me know…**

 **(and after seeing that new trailer – please let the next three months fly!)**

* * *

Chapter Forty-nine

Wearing the pale pink nightie beneath a long white terrycloth bathrobe that Maggie had insisted she take, Erin reaches into the small pocket at her hip to finger the rings tucked secretly inside; a sterling silver band with the right amount of scratches to create the most meaningful design for her, and a thick platinum band with a block pattern that reminds her of a very special blanket, its center row of squares edged on either side with a thin strip of rectangles.

On the dresser before her, a trio of tall taper candles burns slowly, casting a warm romantic glow on the lavender coverlet as the portable CD player hums with an old love song – another gift from Maggie. Heavy footsteps on the stairs echo the tracks of a size eleven cowboy boot and her belly flutters lightly. Stepping to the bed, she turns down the covers and adjusts the pillows against the headboard as the footsteps get higher and higher. Her flutter dips, dancing way down beneath her navel. With her back to the door, she straightens her shoulders and tightens the belt at her waist, anxious for Rick to see the negligee behind it but also wanting to prolong the moment as well.

She doesn't need to hear the boots in the upstairs hallway to know that he is close; she senses him more with her heart as her soul calls out for its mate. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, waiting to feel his warmth at her back and his arms around her middle. _Mmm, there they are_. She covers his hands and basks in their strength as his lips brush sweetly against her ear.

"Hi," he murmurs softly and nothing has ever sounded so sexy or carried so much promise in a single syllable.

She rolls her head back against his shoulder as he tightens his hold around her waist. "Hi, honey."

His body begins to sway to the music coming from the CD player, rocking her slowly within his arms. "I like your new outfit." His hands glide down to her rear as she turns to face him. Looping her arms around his neck, she presses her body to his as they continue to sway to the music in a slow sentimental dance filled with chemistry, courtship and commitment. The rich, seductive voice of Elvis Presley floats on the smoke curling up from the candles.

" _Wise men say  
only fools rush in,  
but I can't help_

 _falling in love with you."_

 _"Shall I stay?  
Would it be a sin,_

 _if I can't help_

 _falling in love with you?"_

Erin feels the tune humming against her neck between a number of soft gentle kisses just below her ear. Threading her fingers through his hair, she begins to drift along on a whisper of heaven.

 _"Like a river flows  
surely to the sea,  
darling, so it goes  
some things are meant to be." _

When Rick's smooth tenor joins the King's high baritone to sing softly against her temple, Erin feels completely weightless. Her head falls to his shoulder as the words lift her up and carry her away.

 _"Take my hand,  
take my whole life too,  
for I can't help_

 _falling in love with you."_

She feels his lips brush against her hair before she senses him pulling back. Lifting her chin, she looks up to see him gazing down at her as Elvis continues to croon.

"I am so incredibly in love with you, Red," he says softly, his blue eyes shining with such tenderness that her own eyes sting with a well of affection. "My wife."

He leans down to meet her lips and she pulls away after the briefest touch, suddenly remembering the jewelry in her pocket. "Oh wait, I almost forgot."

"What? That I'm your husband now?" His adoring eyes fade to a teasing smirk. "Ah hell, you've finally realized what a mistake you made and you want to forget the whole thing. Well I won't-,"

"Never!" She cuts him off with a kiss pressed hard against his lips. When he angles his head to deepen the connection she pushes him away with a chuckling apology as he glowers at her, his libido clearly affronted.

"Hey," he begins, tightening his embrace as laughter dances in his eyes despite the scowl on his adorable face. "I have a marriage license that says I can have my way with you any time I want."

"Do you now?" She can't fight the grin that splits her cheeks.

"Yes. It's written in the branches of that tree out there and wrapped in a red bandana."

She laughs at his wonderful analogy and can almost believe his words to be true. She certainly feels that it is written in the stars, that their love is officially bound by the powers of fate and their union is certifiably ordained. "I know, honey, but I have something to give you first." Squirming within his arms, she reaches into the pocket of her robe and pulls out the two wedding bands.

"What have you got there?" he asks softly as she takes his left hand and presses her lips to his palm.

Gazing into his eyes, her throat swells with sentiment. "With all my heart and soul, I love you, Rick." She turns his hand over and slides the thick band over his fourth knuckle. A perfect fit, as she'd known it would be. "With this ring, I thee wed."

"Oh, sweetheart, it's wonderful." She watches his Adam's apple dip deep in his throat and knows he is swallowing his own husky emotion. "I'm so sorry I don't have one for you."

"You do." Turning his hand over again, she places the smaller ring in the center of his palm and watches him lift it to his eyes, examining the scratched-out design illuminated in the candlelight.

"My God, it's perfect," he whispers reverently. "It looks like our tree."

"That's what I thought, too." She swipes a knuckle against the moisture in her eye as she lays her left hand against his chest.

He collects her hand and turns it over before bringing it up to his mouth. He lays a gentle kiss on her palm and then turns it again until her fingers are aimed at his chest once more. Holding the ring at the tip of her fourth fingernail, he says, "With all my heart and soul, I love you, Erin." The band glides easily over her knuckle to sit comfortably at the base of her ring finger. "With this ring, I thee wed. Come here, Mrs. Grimes."

He cups her cheeks and lowers his mouth, punctuating the ceremony with a kiss that steals her breath. She parts her lips for his artful tongue and clutches his black tee shirt as gravity fails her yet again. Her feet go numb and her legs grow weak as his hands begin to wander, caressing her curves and setting her flutter on fire. Her skin comes alive at his touch, rippling with heat under a wave of sensations as he possesses her mouth like only he can – leading her tongue in a fiery tango, dauntless and dazzling and vigorous and valiant.

She releases the dark hair clutched between her fingers to run her hands over the muscles of his strong back. His hand drops from her breast to her belly where she feels a short tug on the belt of her robe. Reaching for the hem of his black tee shirt, she lifts it over his head and then waits for his hands to return to her now opened bathrobe. He parts the terrycloth to reveal the satin beneath and slowly slips the loose garment from her shoulders. It falls to the floor and she stands before him, all pink satin and lace and sun-kissed skin on fire from his touch and burning with desire.

"Erin," he breathes, enraptured as he rakes his eyes over her figure, one single finger tracing the column of her throat to the dip of her cleavage and across the lace hem decorating the swell of her breasts. "My beautiful bride." The candlelight glows warmly on his bare chest as he lifts her up in true bridal fashion and lays her gently on the bed.

She clings to his shoulders as he stretches out beside her, and then melts into his chest when he rolls them over in the midst of a long languid kiss.

Loving hands move slowly over heated flesh, savoring the contours of each other with sensual caresses in their quest to reach bare skin; his fingers lifting the satiny hem from her thigh, her fingers lowering the zipper that covers his arousal, his hand skating over her breast on its course to bare her body to the candlelight, and her hand gliding over his ass as she slides his jeans down his legs. They roll over each other and back again until he is lying flat and she is on her side, skimming a hand across his chest as their clothes lie in a puddle of denim and lace on the floor.

Erin throws her leg over his thighs and lets her hand drift down over the smooth skin of his belly, the silver band on her finger glinting in a beam of moonlight streaming through the opened window. Touching him for the first time as his wife, she feels almost as if she is touching him for the first time ever. There is a unique intimacy to their coupling that she'd never experienced before, something that may only be invoked by a ring and a vow. She gazes down at the man she now feels licensed to touch, with a freedom to explore his body as only she is permitted.

Her eyes follow her hand as it glides slowly back up and across the span of his chest, soft prickles against her fingertips from one nipple to the other as she skims through the thin layer of hairs covering his flushed skin. She waltzes back to his belly, her palm moving leisurely below his ribs and circling the small indentation at its center. Meeting his blazing blue eyes, she wets her fingertip with a sultry gesture and dips it into his navel. His stomach caves in as his penis dances, hard and hale and delightfully captivating.

He groans beneath her touch as she drifts lower, lightly sailing along the trail of fine hairs that leads into the tight curls surrounding his erection. With a delicate touch, she caresses the tender flesh of his inner thigh and lays her cheek against his belly. She continues to massage his legs, gliding up and down and down and up before landing upon his arousal with a soothing stroke that provokes a fiery moan from his chest.

With a loose fist, she moves leisurely up the length of his shaft and then tightens her hold, stroking him downward as she kisses a trail from his belly to his balls.

When she takes him between her lips, an extensive moan rumbles ardently beneath her as she slowly loves him from the tip to the base and back again. A shift on the pillow and then a warm hand tugs at her knee until she is centered above his mouth. At the first flicker of his tongue at the crease of her clit, her breath catches and she moans around his erection as she continues to please him as he pleases her, with lips and tongue and fingers and fervor.

When her legs are quivering with ripples of aftershocks, she falls onto her back beside him, her feet clawing the pillows like a full-bellied feline. He moves over her and spreads her legs to settle between her thighs. She grips his shoulders to keep from writhing in agonized pleasure as he holds himself at her opening, gently teasing the super-stimulated flesh at her apex. "I love you, Erin Grimes."

Overwhelmed by him, both physically and emotionally, her throat aches once again as she gazes into the blue depths of his eyes. "I love you back." She clings to him tightly as he captures her mouth with a passionate kiss that singes her soul as he jumpstarts her heart with one deep driven thrust, straight to her core. Filling her completely, he holds his hips and moves only his tongue, dancing along hers as she feels his arms wind slowly behind her shoulders. She basks in the warmth of him, inside and around her as her belly quickens and her flutter rekindles the fuse that still smolders deep within her center.

He buries his face in her hair and she clutches his back as she rocks her hips slightly to meet his gentle thrusts. "Always," she whispers against his neck as the exquisite friction takes her away. He moves slowly, as if savoring their union and she feels connected to him in a way that transcends their physical boundaries. They are one; one man, one woman, forged by fate to create one soul. With her feet curled around his thighs and his pushing off the headboard, they comprise a rhythm of tender forces, moving together in a soulful partnership and loving one another as husband and wife.

Though it is not their first time making love, she feels almost as if it is. The motions are technically the same, but it feels different somehow. It feels… more. More intense… more passionate… more tender… more powerful… more intimate… more meaningful... more wonderful. He feels harder and deeper than she's ever taken him and she can't tell where her body ends and his begins. Her eyes sting with tenderness as she gets lost in their rhythm and she knows that everything she has ever done has led up to this moment in time – in this man's arms; the arms of her husband. The depth of her love for him centers her at the same time that it rocks her off-kilter with every beat of the heart that is throbbing soundly against hers.

Moving in perfect harmony, her world exists only where his skin touches hers, from the fusion of their most intimate flesh to the strong muscles moving beneath her hands and against her inner thighs. The warm belly and solid chest lying firmly upon her obliterates everything beyond the existence of this man and her tremendous love for him.

Murmurs of endearment float between them, sung on a draft of ardent breaths as she meets him thrust for thrust until she clenches her thighs and he groans her name, each one coming apart as they come together, soaring as one on the edge of forever.

Lying in a tangle of limbs sometime later, her sleepy eyes gaze at his closed lids as his slumbering chest rises and falls in fluent breaths. Her left arm moves with him, rising steadily upon his chest and the weight of the silver band on her ring-finger feels like an anchor of hope, tethering her to the possibility of a wonderful future with, quite literally, the man of her dreams. Giving in to sleep, she closes her eyes as one final thought drifts on a lazy current from her heart to her head… _Thank you baby Jesus._


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter Fifty

The steaming brew burns a trail of caffeine down his throat, scorching his tongue but warming him against the cool brisk of the barely morning air. The stars have dissolved into the bed of black sky, leaving a hint of the blue that will announce the sun. Leaving the mug to cool off on the railing, Rick continues to pace along the weathered porch, his steps slow and deliberate in an effort to leave space for listening. He shrugs a chill from his shoulders beneath the long sleeves of his red and black button up as his dark jeans rustle softly with each step.

At four-thirty Eastern Daylight Time the farm still sleeps, even Glenn by now after Rick had sent him back to the camper when he'd come out to find his friend dead on his feet and Dale not much better. The Asian man had stumbled off gratefully but the older gent had refused to retire, keeping his post on the back porch until the next shift came on in an hour.

Rick gazes out at the quiet fields lying under a blanket of smoky indigo. He can make out the shape of the windmill and the shadow of the barn as he keeps his slow pace from one corner post to the other. Looking out to the right, he can't see his tree but he knows it is there, waiting patiently for the sun to brush its leaves with morning dew. He'd noticed a scattering of branches strewn about the property from the hurricane, but that tree hadn't given up any of its many limbs. Holding them tightly, it had protected them all from the damaging winds.

Passing the mug he'd left near center stairs, he lifts it to his mouth for another hot sip, and then sets the coffee a few steps further down the railing. Though he is reminded of the long boring hours of working security as a rookie back in his early days, he is enjoying his peaceful surroundings and fresh country air. He feels utterly sanguine, content. Happy. And he gives Erin all the credit for that.

With his right hand resting comfortably on the butt of his holstered gun, his left thumb reaches across his palm to caress the platinum band wrapped around his ring-finger. It seems slightly strange after so many years of not wearing one, but it feels natural and he revels in the solid presence of it and all that it means. It's a bit thicker than his first wedding band, which pleases him greatly. This one feels stronger, strong enough to withstand all the fire in their relationship. And it fits perfectly.

A door hinge awakens behind him and he turns to see Hershel step out onto the porch. "Morning, Rick."

"Not quite, but getting closer," Rick replies with a wry curve of his mouth.

The older man gives him a friendly grin. "Doesn't matter if the sky is still sleeping, Rick. Life on a farm starts before the animals feel the sun on their backs."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"It is. I hear you and Erin tied the knot last night," Hershel says, changing the subject as he runs his fingers along the beige suspenders hooked into his dark gray trousers. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. Yeah, and we'd like to have another ceremony too, a regular one with Carl and the others."

"I'm sure Erin would like that."

"Maybe in a couple of days. Let things settle first…," Rick pauses, fighting the lump that begins to build in his throat. "After T-Dog and all."

"Understandable."

"We'd like to do it out by your tree out there if that's okay."

"That would be fine. And then I expect you'll be moving on."

"Uh, yeah," Rick replies, trying to keep up with the constantly shifting conversation. "We'll be on our way to Savannah as soon as Duane is on his feet."

"Heading to that Red Cross center everyone was talking about? We heard the rumors too but then Otis ran into some folks who said it didn't exist."

Rick's heart sinks like a sailboat with nothing but a handkerchief flying from its mast. "Really? But maybe they were wrong." He refuses to give up his newfound hope. Not today, not after waking up feeling like they were finally getting back on the right track.

"I don't know but Otis seemed pretty convinced. You could try Daytona," he adds with a pointed look. "I heard they were setting something up over there, too."

Rick meets the man's eyes, wise with age, wary with that knowledge and stubborn to a fault. A lot like Rick himself and he gets the message loud and clear. _You can't stay here_.

He clears his throat and drops his gaze as he shifts on his feet, striving for an air of modest humility before meeting the man's eyes once again. "It's gonna be some time before Duane will be able to travel." Rick says gently, testing the old farmer.

"I'll give you a pair of crutches," Hershel replies calmly, never breaking eye contact with him. Making his point. "He'll be well enough in a week."

Rick turns his gaze toward the shadowy barn and the shrouded fields beyond it. "Maybe we should stick around, help you run this place. Protect this place."

"That won't be necessary," Hershel says and then steps down from the porch and melts into the charcoal darkness around the side of the house, blowing away Rick's hopes with the force of a hurricane and leaving him alone with the unsettling thought that he will not be able to protect his family from some very damaging winds.

* * *

Three days later his thoughts aren't entirely settled but they've taken a reprieve to enjoy the spirit of the occasion. After two days of futile deliberations between Savannah and Daytona and a couple of other coastal towns thrown in, they aren't any closer to deciding their next course of action come the end of the week. Rick had been working hard at Hershel's ear while the others, under his orders, had strived to prove their worth in the most unobtrusive way as possible. They stocked the pantry from a couple of short runs and helped to weed the vegetable garden. They repaired an old tractor and took care of a couple of walkers that had gotten stuck in the mucky mire of a creek running along the western edge of the property. While Carol and Amy were helping in the kitchen, Erin and Kelly were grooming the horses in the barn. They'd cooked and cleaned and took care of a number of handyman issues, but so far nothing has changed. Their host would give them a brief word of thanks and continue on his way as if none of it mattered. Or maybe it mattered too much and that's why he refused to reveal his true appreciation. A guilty conscience has no place in this new society.

Either way, they had four days left to plan, to prepare, and to pray that things would work out. For now, Rick is determined to set it all aside for one night. With his bride at his side, he is able to forget about the pressing matter of their impending homelessness. The conversation is light and the company exceptional, gathered around a small campfire in the clearing between the house and the barn. With Erin curled up on the faded cushion and tucked under his arm, his rooted foot propels the swing to sway gently up and back. To fill in as the obligatory dais, an old canopied garden swing was carried over from behind the house and set next to the woodpile, taking pride of place to hold the bride and groom at their wedding reception.

The wedding ceremony had been officiated by Jesus himself, after Aaron had offered his partner's services, announcing that _'He is a self-proclaimed newly-ordained pastor of the disaster by decree of his locks!'_ Jesus was happy to help and actually performed a beautiful and touching ceremony.

They were able to relax and enjoy a nice dinner— thanks to Patricia and Carol and Amy and the sacrifice made by two of Hershel's fattest chickens, served on a series of folding tables set edge to edge and hidden beneath white linens to create one long banquet in the front yard – and then gather beneath the majestic oak tree to recite their vows as the sun retreated into a stunning horizon, setting the sky on fire in a blaze of wondrous glory with a mélange of orange, purple and yellow stretching for miles across a sea of radiant crimson.

Otis had strummed a beautiful wedding march as Dale walked Erin down an aisle created by two lengths of rope adorned with a spray of flowers at measured intervals. A long-stemmed single red rose was held gently in her hands. Wearing one of Hershel's white dress shirts tucked into his black jeans, and a black tie with a subtle pattern of paw prints etched into the texture, Rick waited beneath the thick oak branches at the end of the aisle. At his side, his best man Carl stood smiling and proud, after the brief disappointment of having to wear only a plain white tee shirt that matched the sling supporting his left arm. They didn't have a dress shirt small enough for him, but the black bowtie circling his neck went a long way in sprucing him up a bit for the ceremony and he wore it proudly.

Erin was a vision in soft peach; a simple skater dress that Maggie had assured would go well with her russet hair. Held up by thin spaghetti straps, it hugged her chest, cinched her waist and billowed gently down to her knees with a jagged hemline. Her maid of honor, Kelly, wore a sleeveless cranberry number that Eugene couldn't take his eyes from. Nikki rounded out the wedding party as a groomsman, sitting quietly at Carl's side with the sentimental bandana tied loosely around his neck.

Even now, the husky wears the bandana as he sleeps at Daryl's feet, muzzle resting on his big paws and undoubtedly getting baked by the heat of the fire just a few feet away.

Rick tightens his arm around his wife when he hears the soft smack of her lips as she licks sticky marshmallow residue from her fingers. "Good, huh?" he asks with a rhetorical chuckle as he presses a kiss to her hair.

"Mmm," she hums around her pinky.

The S'mores were the best he could ever remember having, though he figures that the occasion itself had helped with enhancing the flavor. The graham crackers were crisp, the marshmallows fresh, and though mini chocolate chips had to pinch hit for the standard chocolate bar, the little morsels added just the right amount of semi-sweetness to burst upon his tongue.

"Do you want another one, honey?" she asks before moving onto another digit.

"No, I'll just nibble on this." He takes her hand and brings it up to his mouth, pulling two fingers inside and swiping his tongue along the soft pads. "Mmm, best wedding cake ever." She laughs softly and the sound is even sweeter than the treat he is sucking from her middle finger.

"Oh, baby, but how I would've loved to shove a piece in your face and totally destroy your tux with the icing."

"Well then I'm glad I didn't meet you before the walkers took over the world," he says, entwining his fingers with hers and lowering their hands to rest against her chest. "This was perfect," he adds tenderly.

"Yes it was," she replies with a smile before turning her chin for a gentle kiss.

She snuggles back into his side and Rick rests his jaw against her crown, gazing across the fire to see his son fighting to keep his eyes open as the conversation continues around him. Carl releases a wide-mouthed yawn and Daryl leans into the boy with a teasing smirk on his face, reminding Rick of an older brother taking full advantage of his sibling's suffering. Carol taps on Daryl's knee with a stern look on her face and he sits back in his seat, a repentant apology etched on his sharp features and aimed right at Carol. Or at the woman's lap anyway. _But wait, what's this?_ Rick continues to watch the scene play out on the other side of the fire pit, curious at the way Beth is now leaning forward from her lawn chair on Carl's other side. Her words are muffled by a conversation going on between Dale and Glenn and Maggie, but her expression and tone seem as if she is trying to get Daryl's attention with a lighthearted joke. _What the hell? She is totally defending him!_ Keeping his focus on the strange love triangle playing out beside the fire, he lowers his chin to Erin's ear. "What's going on with Beth over there?"

"Teenage crush on Daryl," she replies quietly, her matter-of-fact tone implying that it isn't anything to worry about it.

But how can he not? "Shit."

"Don't worry, honey. He only has eyes for Carol. And even then they seem completely naïve. I mean, look at him. He's like a pimple-faced teenager clinging to the bleachers at the senior prom."

"Yeah, and that young lady is gonna eat him alive. And I don't mean as a walker."

"He'd have to notice her first before she got close enough to sink her teeth into him. Don't worry about Daryl, honey."

"Christ, if Hershel finds out." Thank God the old vet had gone inside way before the logs took hold of the kindling and roared to life under the moonlit sky.

"Daryl isn't doing anything wrong," she replies.

"I know. I just feel like we're hanging on by a thread here and one stiff breeze will snap it from all the weight we are tying under it."

"Glenn looks happy at least," she says and he follows her line of sight to the side of the fire where their friend is sitting in a camp chair next to the dark haired sister, their hands linked between the armrests that are separated by only a few inches.

"Thank God," he responds. "Maggie is good for him. And at least they make sense. Well, to us anyway. I'm not sure how Hershel feels about them either." Rick glances up at the house, peering through the darkness to the deep shadows of the side porch. He cannot see whether the space is empty or if there is someone standing within the gloom. He cannot see if the rocking chairs sit silent and alone or if they sway with southern comfort.

He does not see the elderly man that is standing at his bedroom window and looking out at the party gathered around the glowing fire, scowling at the way his eldest daughter is holding hands with the Asian boy, and absolutely glowering at the way his youngest child keeps looking over at the man that carries the crossbow.


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N Thank you so much to my wonderful reviewers! Please keep it coming. Getting down to the wire here so I really want to know what you think. I'm so happy (and humbled) that you all have stuck with me for so long. Enjoy...**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-one

The morning had broken hot and muggy, the oppressive humidity slickening Rick's skin beneath the belt cinched at the waist of his faded blue jeans, and darkening his light gray tee shirt where it sticks to the center of his back. At only eight-fifteen and already broiling with sultry temps, he knows the afternoon will be unbearable, which does nothing to lighten his turbulent mood. The only saving grace will be the prospect of the late day thunderstorm that usually follows this kind of heat. With his current state of mind, he feels like a good cleansing rain is just what he himself needs to wash away the miasma that is shrouding his soul.

Standing at the fence that separates the front yard from the small pasture that surrounds the windmill, he rests his forearms on the railing that he and Daryl had just fortified. He watches the horses eating their breakfast, their heads bent to the ground as their long tails work hard to keep the flies from feasting on their hindquarters. A few days ago he would have thoroughly enjoyed the peaceful scene before him, but now it only makes him sad for all the things he will miss when they are forced to move on. Even Daryl's bad joke about the four horses of the apocalypse hadn't helped lighten his mood when they'd arrived to see the three mares with their stallion grazing in the thick morning haze. The cloying moisture that thickens the air is filling his lungs as heavily as the fate of his family is weighing on his heart, nearly suffocating him. No matter how much air he inhales, he feels like he can't get a good, deep breath.

Wiping an arm across the dampness on his forehead, he watches the stallion lift his dark head and walk toward the fence, a purpose in his gait. Rick stretches a hand out to greet the steed and then turns at the sound of footsteps behind him. He watches Hershel approach the fence about ten feet down, where the horse is now bobbing his head vigorously above the railing. The farmer extends a hand and the horse takes an apple from his flattened palm.

"Good morning, Hershel," Rick greets the man as the man greets the horse with a soothing hand on his fetlock.

"Mornin'."

The reply is friendly enough, but lacks the warmth of a truly sincere greeting. Rick can't help but think that they both woke up on the same grumpy side of the proverbial bed. "Daryl and I just replaced some of the wood that was rotting out over here," he says, watching the horse turn his nose back to the ground. "It'll do a better job of keeping the walkers out now."

"Throw some spikes on it and it'll be even better," Daryl mutters as he crouches at the pile of old weathered wood that lies in a heap at the foot of the new fencing.

"Yeah, Daryl had a great idea of adding some kind of spikes to the fences, like spears that would be aimed outward so that any walker that reaches the fence line would be skewered."

"We would need an awful lot of spears to cover them all," Hershel replies, gazing out at the mares.

"Yes, but there are plenty of trees that we cou-"

"Listen, Rick," Hershel cuts him off with a hand held out to his chest as he finally meets his eyes. "I appreciate what you're doing, but it's time for you and your people to be moving on."

 _Oh God_. "Well, Duane is getting better but he's not ready to travel yet," Rick says quickly. "I think another-"

"I need you off my property, Rick. I'll give you today, but I want you gone in the morning."

"Wait. Hershel, you said we cou-"

"That was before my daughters were getting mixed up with your… people."

"Hey," Daryl says defensively as he rises to his full height next to Rick. "Glenn is a good guy, better than most. Way better than me."

"That's why you'll understand if I don't want you around my Beth."

"What? I never touched that kid!"

"I know," Hershel replies. "But just the same, I don't want you near her."

"Listen," Rick implores, feeling as if his feet have been kicked out from beneath him. "You don't know what it's like out there. Please, Hershel."

"I'm sorry, but you can't stay here. You guys are a strong group, you'll be okay."

"Not if Savannah isn't an option anymore!" Rick argues as his heart begins to race.

"Maybe it is," Hershel says, sounding as if he were trying to appease his own conscience as much as he is trying to mollify Rick. "Maybe those people Otis saw had it all wrong."

"I can't take my son there if it isn't safe. Please, Hershel," he begs, his heart on his sleeve and pure desperation in his eyes.

"You're a good leader, Rick. You'll be fine," Hershel says to the ground, unable to meet his eyes now.

"I'm just a man trying to protect his family."

"So am I, Rick. That's why you cannot stay here. I'm sorry," Hershel adds with tremendous sincerity before turning to walk away.

 _Fuck! "_ Okay. But can you give us two more days at least? Just so I can go and check out Savannah for myself before I bring the others along. Please. And then in two days, no matter what, we'll be gone."

"Fine." The old farmer nods his head. "Forty-eight hours."

* * *

Opening the door to the guest bedroom, Erin finds her husband lying crossways on the bed, his bare back a bronze glow in the light of a single candle. Wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, his bare feet hang over the edge of the mattress. His muscled arms lie flat on either side of his head as his fingers curl over the mattress's other edge. His face is turned toward the pillows, giving her a view of the dark waves at his nape.

Stepping softly, she walks around the bed and sees that his eyes are closed. _That's good._ So terribly worried about leaving the farm, he hasn't slept well the last few nights. And after hearing about the discussion he'd had today with Hershel, she doesn't expect him to get much sleep tonight either. Which means that she is in for another restless night herself; because while he worries about everyone else, she focuses her worry on him. She watches him sleep now, finally, and fights the urge to reach out and stroke his hair; a soothing touch that says, _You are not alone, I am here for you. Lay your head upon my chest and find refuge in my arms._

Clad in black capris and her blue Emory tee, she silently reaches out to grab her red shirt, along with the pillow that it rests upon, with the intention of taking them downstairs to sleep. She chokes down a gasp when a strong hand suddenly clamps onto her wrist.

"Where you goin'?" he says softly, not in the mumbly way of someone half asleep, but in the tone of a man who is just bone-tired from the weight of the world that he sets upon his shoulders.

"Oh sorry, baby," she replies softly. "I thought you were asleep and I didn't want to wake you."

He moves slightly, sliding his jaw along the sheet to adjust the position of his neck. "I'm up." He releases her hand and she moves it to the back of his skull, caressing the tension buried just beneath his scalp.

"You want a massage, honey? Help you relax?"

"Massage won't help," he grumbles sourly but drops his chin, instinctively giving her access to the back of his neck.

"It couldn't hurt, Rick." She rubs her fingers along his nape. "You're so tense and you really need to get some rest."

"What I need is to figure out what the hell we are gonna do in two days," he snaps, sounding much more alert now.

"What you _need_ is a healthy dose of endorphins," she counters as she climbs over him to straddle the backs of his thighs. "You're not going to figure anything out unless you can get some sleep, but I can feel the tension coming off of you in waves." He mumbles something as she presses her fists into his lower back and moves them up along his spine. His attitude is so disheartening that she can feel herself being pulled into the vortex of his misery. With a deeply frustrated sigh, she shakes off the despair that is trying to pierce her heart, and makes a conscious decision to do whatever it takes to pull Rick up with her.

Ready to fight dirty if it would assure him a few hours of solid sleep, she digs her knuckles into the tender spot between his shoulder blades. "Did you know," she says softly, speaking in a peaceful soothing tone, "that during sex, that big noggin of yours releases something called oxytocin, which floods your brain along with a surge of endorphins called serotonin." She works her fingers up and out toward his shoulders. "The oxytocin is a natural tranquilizer that numbs your body to pain and stress, and serotonin is nature's morphine; it gives you that nice peaceful feeling of bliss when you are falling asleep on top of me."

"I don't need a feeling of bliss right now, Red. What I need is to know how to keep you safe."

His words come out a bit brusque still, but there is a definite softening to his tone. She goes in for the kill while his underbelly is exposed. "What you need right now is a good lay."

"And that's going to solve all our problems, is it?" he retorts, a strong degree of scorn sharpening his tongue.

 _Okay, so maybe his vulnerable belly wasn't completely exposed yet._ But she doesn't let up. "No it won't. But it'll ease your mind and relax your body so you can sleep, and then with a clear head you'll figure something out tomorrow. You're so tense, Rick, and I know you haven't been sleeping well the last few nights. You really need to sleep." She presses her fingertips into his lower back. "You're so tight, honey, you need a blow job at the very least," she mutters under her breath as she skims her fingers just inside the waistband of his underwear.

He mumbles something that may be _'Jesus'_ or _'please us'_. She couldn't quite hear it but from the dark tone he was probably referring to the Lord and not his lust.

"What do you say, sheriff?" She leans over his back as she slides a hand around his hip, boldly going with the fiery flow that she had started. She swallows hard and digs in. "My tongue licking the vein that runs along your shaft?" she whispers provocatively behind his ear. "Kissing the tip before I swallow you up to your balls?" Slipping her hand beneath him, she wraps her fingers around his quickly growing arousal.

"Fucking hell, Red, why do you do this to me," he groans, lifting his hips from the mattress. "It kills me that you have more control over my body than I do."

"Mmhmm," she purrs against his nape as she strokes his length through his boxer briefs. "I'm your wife now and my body is your therapy. Use it however you see fit," she murmurs in a tantalizingly soft tone. "So… will it be a quick blow or do you want to take out your frustrations between my legs?"

He chuckles with a groan as he rolls over onto his back. "God, you're twisted."

"Yup, that's me. Mrs. Twisted," she replies with a beaming smile, holding up her left hand to proudly display her wedding ring as she resituates herself on his lap after giving him room to roll. "Blow job it is then."

He laughs full on this time and Erin feels his body begin to relax beneath her. "Come here you." He pulls her down against his chest and wraps his arms securely around her back, squeezing her against him with a hearty hug. "This is all I need. Right here."

"Maybe. But we don't have to waste this," she says, gyrating against his erection.

"Mmm, do what you want with it, sweetheart."

"Ooh, don't mind if I do." She glides the tip of her tongue along the seam of his slightly parted lips as she presses her center against his thickness. He opens his mouth to deepen the kiss and she angles her head to find the best fit. Lips locked, she gets a brief taste of his tongue before a knock on the door interrupts their little rendezvous.

"Rick? It's Kelly," his sister's voice calls softly through the thin crack of the doorframe.

Erin drops her face to his neck as his chest dispels a heavy breath beneath her.

"Yeah?" he replies, lifting his chin as Erin nips at the base of his throat.

"Carl is asking for you."

Erin lifts her head to meet his eyes with a concern that is mirrored in the blue depths of his.

"Is he okay?" Rick asks, his voice loud in the quiet room.

"Yeah, just a belly ache. Last night's marshmallows are probably catching up to him."

"Okay, Kel. Tell him I'll be right there."

"Will do."

Rick gives Erin a soft grimace of apology. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"Go honey," she replies with a quick kiss that is filled with compassionate pity. "We can finish this later." She begins to roll off of him but his strong arms pull her back down to his chest, holding her tightly against him.

"I love you, Red."

"Love you back." She returns his hug and then slips down his body when his arms loosen their hold. "Always," she breathes with a final kiss against his belly before slipping from the bed to help him find his clothes in the dark.


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N Many many thanks to my wonderful reviewers! Only a few chapters left now - please let me know what you think...**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-two

After sitting with Carl until his son fell asleep, Rick strips out of his jeans with a jaw-cracking yawn as he climbs back into bed with Erin, moving with deliberate ease so as not to wake her. She mumbles a soft greeting in her sleep but never opens her eyes with true consciousness. He curls around her form, tucking his thighs against the backs of hers and gently pressing his arm to her belly as he fills his hand with her breast, embracing it like the favorite stuffed toy of a sleeping child, taking comfort from its presence.

"Nnn, baby." She moans softly, but still doesn't wake.

"Shh…, I'm here, honey." He leaves a tender kiss behind her ear as he recalls the conversation they'd had an hour ago. He knew she was just trying to bring him out of the funk he'd been in, but he was so set in his wallowing ways that he really didn't think she would succeed. But she had proven once again that he is nothing but putty in her hands. Jeez, he couldn't believe how quickly his body had responded to her and her saucy words. He never stood a chance. Slightly aroused again, he nestles his thickening cock against the cleft of her rump, and drifts away on an echo of lust…

 _A strong saltwater breeze stirs the white curtain that frames the sliding glass door, opened up to the spacious balcony overlooking Tybee Beach. Warm sunlight brightens the room as a flock of gulls fills it with song, a squawking melody on the wind that floats into the cozy bedroom._ _The light blue sheets covering the king-sized bed are bunched beneath him as Rick releases a healthy groan. Holding two handfuls of auburn hair, he watches Erin's beautiful jaw-line moving up and down above his groin. "Oh yeah, that feels so good, Red," he murmurs softly as the Atlantic Ocean rumbles with another incoming wave._

 _A soft hum against his erection sends a sweet vibration through his thickness and down to his balls. He sucks in a breath when she tightens her hold on his nuts and presses a finger against a strangely sensitive spot behind them. With her lips focusing their efforts on the tip of his cock, her tongue cleverly plays at its tiny divot as her hand moves up to stroke his length. Then faster and faster she glides over him, her mouth following the path of her hand, pumping and squeezing and devouring him whole._

 _He can't keep his hips from moving beneath her, thrusting slightly upward through her parted lips. She circles the base of his arousal with a firm grip and strokes his flesh with gentle licks. Another lustful hum sends a tremor through his sensitive skin when she takes him to the back of her throat once again. "Baby, don't stop." He closes his eyes, getting lost in the burning pleasure of her mouth…_

"Rick?"

He opens his eyes and the salty air is lost to the grass and hay freshness of a farm.

"Honey?"

Erin's voice cuts through the echo of seagulls and he turns his head to see her leaning up on her elbow next to him, her hand resting on his chest as the moonlight glosses her hair with silver and highlights the expression of amused curiosity on her face. He stares at her, caught somewhere between a beach and a barn as his dick raises the sheet below his belly.

"Are you okay, babe?"

"Yeah," he says tightly, trying to clear the cobwebs from his dream and ignore the blue aching of his balls, now that he knows that this dream was his alone.

"Are you sure?" She leans down, bringing her face close to his. "You were moaning." She says the word so close to his lips that he can taste the warmth of her breath on his tongue.

"Was I?" He swallows hard, trying to read her tone in the darkness.

"Uh huh," she purrs seductively. "What were you dreaming about?"

"I don't remember."

"That's too bad," she says softly. "I heard my name and I'm curious to know what I was doing to you."

"Oh." _Jesus, what the hell did I say?_ He continues to feign ignorance, not sure how much he had actually revealed and how much she will be able to guess. Knowing their connection, she probably knows it all even if she wasn't a part of it. "Did I sound… happy?" he asks, striving to sound vague.

He can see the ghost of a smirk in the moonlight. "Very," she replies with a whisper against his lips, her tone light and teasing as her palm rests hot upon his hard-on. "And I can see you are still happy."

He cradles her face between his palms. "You make me very happy, Red," he says as she begins to stroke him through his underwear.

"I like making you happy," she whispers in the darkness, the words a salve that soothes his soul as he feels her hand at the hem of his boxer briefs.

"You do, honey. Always." He lifts his mouth to hers and angles his chin, slipping his tongue between her teeth when she opens up for him. She kisses him back with heat and heart, a blaze of passion in his arms that only intensifies when she breaks away to trace a trail of kisses down his neck.

"Is this what you were dreaming of?" She continues a slow, steamy path down his chest and abdomen.

"Maybe." He swallows deeply and gently pulls the ponytail tie from her hair so he can feel her lustrous curls flowing soft against his knuckles. Her beautiful face glows in the moonlight, a blush of fervent determination on her cheeks as she moves his underwear out of the way.

She takes him to the back of her throat, continuing his dream and loving him in a sensuous rhythm as he holds her hair back in two clenched fists. He watches her now as he'd watched her then, enthralled by the beauty of her jaw as she works him into an inferno of sensation. "Easy honey, it won't be long."

Her reply is a hum against his most sensitive skin before she lifts her chin to give him a provocative look full of wanton mischief. When she dips her head again, she moves faster along his length.

"Oh, God," he groans through gritted teeth. Closing his eyes, he struggles to keep his body in check as she resumes her ardent attack.

"Mmmm…" she moans around him and his brain goes numb as every blood vessel in his body seems to race to the party at his pelvis.

"Baby stop. I'm so close," he utters, knowing that he is losing the battle of self-control. Another hum vibrates against him and he realizes that she has no intention of stopping. _Holy fuck_. Instead of fighting the tide, he cradles her head as gently as he can manage and throws his chin back as he lifts his hips, filling her mouth as he gives into his release. "Unnn, God!" He can't help but continue to buck slightly as her throat works to take it all in.

His besotted heart beats a shuddering tempo against his ribcage as his legs lie weak and useless. "Sweet baby Jesus," he wheezes, gripping her shoulders as she crawls up his body. Wrapping his arms around her back, he crushes her to his chest, amazed at what she had just done. "My God, Red, you're unbelievable."

"Are you complaining?" she asks with a Cheshire grin.

"Not at all!" he laughs as his heart begins to slow. "It was just… unexpected. I mean, I've never…" he trails off on a timorous breath, his admission floating on the sultry air between them.

"Yeah," she says softly, filling the quiet that surrounds their heavy breathing. "That was new for me too." She gives him a sweet smile as she traces a fingertip along the edge of his upper lip. "I just wanted to do something nice for you."

"Jesus, you did." Cradling her head once more, he pulls her in to steal a kiss.

She lays another soft kiss on the cleft of his chin and begins to roll away. "I'll let you go back to sleep now."

"Hey, not so fast." He tightens his arms around her to keep her in position, lying against his chest with her legs straddling his hips. He massages the plump curve of her ass and then works one hand between them, stroking her through the thin cotton covering her center, already damp with need. She lifts her hips to give his hand more room and he slips inside the hem of her panties, caressing the hidden treasure just inside her folds.

She buries her face in his neck and he feels her teeth against his shoulder as a soft mewling moan rumbles from her chest. Sinking two fingers deep inside her, he finds her incredibly wet as she squirms against his hand. "It's not gonna take you long either, is it?"

"God no," she groans into the crook of his neck.

He whispers words of love and seduction as he works his fingers over and inside her, touching and teasing until he feels her walls flutter and clench around them.

Arching her back, she presses her forehead into his jaw as she grinds against his hand, riding out her orgasm before melting limply into his chest.

He holds her close with one arm curled around her shoulders, the other moving to lift the hem of her red tee shirt to give him access to the smooth skin of her back. He rubs a warm palm along her spine and feels a puff of heat against his throat when she releases a long sigh of satisfied bliss. "Yeah, I guess those endorphins do work pretty good, don't they?" he says with a smile as he presses his lips to her hair.

"Mmm, thanks for that," she replies with a soft murmur and he can practically hear her sleepy grin in the darkness.

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Let them take you away now."

Her drowsy reply is a soft whisper against his neck. "As long as you come with me."

"Always."

* * *

Rick squints into the rising sun as it peeks through the clouds just above the treetops in the east. The darkness of his dismayed heart is reflected in all the concerned faces standing before him at the bumper of Dale's camper; the faces that had been holding out a thread of hope that they would find sanctuary in Savannah. But now that Otis has just informed them that he'd heard the same rumor from different sources about the coastal city being overrun, they are back to the debate of exactly where they should go.

He had every intention of taking a small group to check out the city this morning, and actually seeing and smelling the saltwater of Tybee Island, but after the big man's warning, the discussion is once again back to whether they will head north to Charleston or south toward Daytona, or move further inland and stay away from the coast altogether. The majority so far seems to be in favor of the coast, but it's a very narrow margin above those that want to stay inland. He himself is leaning toward the coast, but he's afraid that he is making the decision based on his own personal desires over what would be best for the group. Unfortunately, there is no way to know exactly what would be best for the group. And the uncertainty of it all is killing him.

"I don't think we have a choice, Rick," Morgan says, speaking for the inland team. He lowers his voice with a glance toward the house where Otis is headed and adds, "Aside from taking the farm by force."

Dale, also an inlander, quickly lifts a hand in rebuttal. "Which we have already agreed is not an option," he says vehemently before Rick can respond.

"No." Rick shakes his head, refusing to even consider the temptation. "If we start going down that path, we'll lose what little humanity we have left." He scans the crowd, meeting the eyes of the people who have come to mean the world to him, gazing from fearful green to troubled brown to uneasy blue; the eyes that have put their trust in him to clear the anxiety that clouds their vision. Though Erin isn't part of the gathering, he can hear her voice in his head, telling him to swallow his own fears and lead them out of the darkness and into some kind of light that they can believe in. Because sometimes the glimmer of false hope is better than the desolation of no hope at all. And maybe, just maybe, he will actually succeed in finding a future for his flock. And that is the message he is getting from Erin, from the echo of her soul and all of the faith that it has placed in him. He looks upon his family and friends with conviction in his eyes, an assurance that he hopes will keep them moving forward; a promise that, at the very least, will keep them from giving up.

"Listen," he begins, commanding their attention with a tone that carries a bit more than the strict authority it once held as a police officer. Loud and clear and rich with emotion, he speaks from his heart to theirs. "Wherever we go, we will survive if we just stick together. We travel together. We scavenge together. We fight together. And we will live… together. There's a place out there somewhere for us. We'll find it. Whether it's Daytona or somewhere else. And we'll sleep at night with a clear conscience because we didn't give up our souls in search of that place. We'll fight anything that threatens us." He locks onto the impressionable young eyes that are so much like his own. "But we'll do it with a degree of the compassion that we were born with. Because if we lose ourselves completely, then what are we fighting for?"

A few murmurs of agreement accompany the nodding of every single head in front of him. Erin would be proud. He hears the distinctive thwack of a screen door behind him and he watches every chin pivot toward the sound, a sheen of desperation shining bright in their eyes once more.

"Here they come," Aaron says.

Rick turns to see Erin and Maggie coming down the porch steps. He can't see their expressions at this distance but if it was good news, they would be walking a whole lot faster to spread the cheer. Though he wasn't holding out much hope, his heart still sinks a little with the disappointment.

"I'm sorry, Rick," Maggie says when they reach the gathering. "We couldn't change his mind."

He can see the regret that shimmers through the tears that she is fighting to hide as she walks into Glenn's open arms. "Thank you for trying, Maggie," Rick says, entwining his fingers with Erin's as she steps to his side and slips her hand into his.

"So, when are we leaving?" Erin asks him with a restless expression that holds a large grain of excitement inside the thick measure of concern. "And did you figure out who's coming to Savannah with us?"

"Well, Savannah is off the table again," he replies, hating the disappointment that he can't keep from his voice. "Otis is convinced that it's overrun so we've decided to give up on it."

"But what about the dream you had last night?" she asks, sounding somewhat alarmed at the change of plans.

He coughs to cover his own surprise at the mention of his dream. He tilts his chin with a wary air. "What about it?" he asks tentatively, his nape prickling with nerves of flustered discomfort.

"You were back at the condo on Tybee. That must mean something."

Lifting his brows, he sends her a look that begs her to drop the subject. "But you weren't there this time."

"You had another dream about Savannah, Rick?" Dale asks, sounding extremely interested. "Why didn't you say anything, son?"

"I didn't think this one mattered because Erin didn't share the dream with me."

"Maybe I did," she cuts in. "Maybe I did but I just didn't remember it once I woke up."

"You would remember," he says under his breath, praying that she won't reveal the sexy details that she was quick to discover upon his waking.

"But it was still a dream about Savannah, right?" Dale asks.

"Yeah."

"Well, your dreams have gotten us this far. Maybe we should continue to follow them," the older man says, apparently changing his mind about staying inland.

"We also lost T-Dog on the way," Glenn says sourly, filling the role of devil's advocate.

"Which also brought us to this farm with the tree and the windmill that Carl dreamt about," Kelly says. "I miss T-Dog too, Glenn, but I also believe that we were meant to find this place. And that never would've happened if we hadn't followed Rick's dreams. We've come all this way and it's only what – another hour to the coast now?"

"An hour with clear roads," Morgan chimes in. "With all the trees down after the storm, it'll take longer."

"But the hurricane didn't hit as hard up here," Erin adds quickly. "Maybe it won't be as bad as you think. And we'll never know if we don't at least try."

Rick gazes at her, enamored with her enthusiasm and the strength she has to fight for their dreams. He feels a slightly joyful tug of relief raising the corners of his mouth. "You really want to go to Tybee, don't you, Red?"

"Yeah, I think we should. We need to see it for ourselves, Rick."

He's seen it many times in his head, behind the hazy mist of daydreams. Ever since they'd dreamt of their walk on the beach with her clinging to his back, he's imagined them there, kicking up the sand as they chase each other in and out of the water with the seagulls soaring overhead. He gives her hand a loving squeeze, wanting nothing more than to feel the soft grit of smooth white sand beneath his feet as he braces his arms behind her knees while she clings to his shoulders. "Yeah. Maybe we do need to see it for ourselves." He breaks away from her heartwarming gaze to find his lieutenant, leaning against the camper at the edge of the group. He'd been silent up to this point, letting everyone argue for one side or the other while he'd kept his opinion to himself. Now it's time to find out exactly which side he is on. "What do you think, Daryl?"

The hunter lowers his thumbnail from his teeth as he pushes away from the camper. With all eyes now on him, Rick watches Daryl roll his shoulders in an uneasy shrug, as if he is brushing off the weight of all the stares aimed in his direction. He takes two steps forward and then looks up to meet Rick's eyes. "What the hell, I say let's go for it," he says. "And if it don't work out then we can ride the coast a ways. If we still can't find nothin', then we move inland."

Rick dips his chin in appreciation, relieved that the matter is settled, and comfortable with the final decision. "Sounds like a plan." He turns to search the crowd for the team he will take to Savannah. "Alright then. Jesus, Michonne. Daryl." He gives his friend another nod and then glances back at Erin. Squeezing her hand tightly once more, he smiles down at the spark of joy in her eyes. "Okay, Red. Let's go."


	53. Chapter 53

**A/N Thank you sooo much for the wonderful reviews! You guys are the best! And yes, Tilly, I have a series of deleted scenes that will keep Erick together for at least a little while. :)**

Chapter Fifty-three

* * *

"Go back!"

"Over there!"

"Watch 'em!"

"Fuck!" Rick jerks the steering wheel hard to the left to avoid another swell of listless figures stumbling out of Abercorn Street on his right. Flooring the gas pedal, he races toward Drayton Street and the open space of Forsyth Park. With another furious curse at the cluster of walkers blocking the last cobblestoned stretch of Hall Street, he forces the van through them, taking several rotted body parts with him. The windshield wipers wash away the gore splattered against the glass, with help from the rain that is drenching the small city of Savannah.

"Hold on!" Swinging a left onto Drayton, he runs along the park, weaving around a slew of abandoned cars and the trash that was left behind during a hasty evacuation. At Bolton Lane he is stopped once again by a barricade of the dead, their lifeless eyes now focusing their brutal instinct on him and his four passengers.

"That way!" Daryl calls out from the seat next to him and Rick glances in the direction of the finger pointed toward the southeast corner of the park, where a quadrant of tennis courts sits in the spacious field. "It's clear straight through!"

With a screeching turn against the wet asphalt, Rick takes the van over the curb and between a set of oak trees, decorated in webs of sagging Spanish moss that seem to be dripping with tears for the loss of a very special city. He steers around the fenced-in courts and jumps onto the wide walking path that splits the great lawn running a six block stretch from Park Avenue to Gaston Street, where the historic Forsyth Park fountain now sits empty and dry, its famous trumpeting swans and mermen spouting nothing but distant memories.

Exiting the park with a rattle and clang, he squeezes the van through the narrow space between 'The Hiker' statue and a small corner hedge, displacing a trash can in the process. He pulls out onto Bull Street and continues past the oak tunnel of Duffy Street where the shaded lane is swarming with walkers.

Another five hundred feet and he whips a right onto Anderson, ignoring the Wrong Way sign on the one way street. _This whole fucking city is the wrong way! I never should've brought Erin here._ Now he knows why she didn't share his dream last night. She wasn't supposed to be there! _Please God, let me get her out of here._ Aiming for an escape at Ogeechee Road, his vision is impeded when the wind picks up and the rain hits harder, pounding against the roof in competition with the heart that is beating wildly inside his chest.

"If we can get across Montgomery we'll be in the clear!" Jesus shouts from his seat behind Daryl.

"We're not gonna make it," Rick replies, braking hard to jump onto Jefferson Street, just one block before an infested stretch of Montgomery. "Shit!"

He maneuvers through two blocks of scattered debris, feeling like an experimental mouse caught in a horrific maze, and turns left onto Henry Street to avoid the herd swarming in the shadows of the oaks on Duffy. Crossing a clear strip of Montgomery, he makes another left to box around, taking Martin Luther King Junior Boulevard back to pick up Anderson once again. "Hold on!" Cutting the corner to get around a burned out Chevrolet, the front end rises and falls with a groaning crunch of metal as he takes the curb hard and the curb takes his rear bumper. With only a hundred and seventy five yards away from freedom, he guns it up Anderson, pressing through a drove of the dead coming out of Burroughs Street on his left and merging with another horde from hell spilling out of an apartment complex on his right, becoming one hot mess of trouble for him.

They line the sidewalks and stumble onto the pavement, their gnarled fingers reaching for the van as it races up the double yellow lines in the center of the street. "Come on," Rick mutters behind clenched teeth, keeping his eye on the quickly closing escape route as his back end fishtails slightly on the slick roadway.

"Rick!" Erin cries as scores of bloodstained fingers try to find a grip on the slippery metal of the vehicle as it whips past them.

"Hang on! Almost there," he adds under his breath, more to himself in an effort to ignore the persistent thudding against the side windows and keep his focus on the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, which in this case is a street sign that says Ogeechee Road. Barreling through the last few snarling figures, he releases a sigh of relief as he looks out upon an empty road.

Shifting his foot to the brake to ease into the turn only a short distance away now, he slows the van down to a respectable speed and then turns the wheels to the left. He grips the steering wheel and slightly twists his body into the turn, dropping his left shoulder and leaning forward as the vehicle skids from Anderson to Ogeechee Road. He feels the tires fighting to grab onto the asphalt as the back end swings in a wide arc. He presses the accelerator to fight the momentum of the skid, but the front tires cannot grasp the wet road in time to keep the rear tires from slipping into a patch of sodden earth. The narrow strip of grass that separates the street from Laurel Grove Cemetery on its right now sits under a shallow stream of rainwater, and captures two wheels in its saturated terrain. "Fuck!" Rick floors the gas pedal but the back tires spin ineffectually within the mire of muck and mud.

Four voices holler in unison around him. "Go go go!"

"I'm trying dammit!" With his foot to the floor, he glances over his left shoulder and his belly drops for the hundredth time in twenty minutes. Despite their clumsy stagger, the throng of walkers is advancing quickly. "Oh God." He looks to the cemetery on his right and sees a scattering of figures that seem to have escaped from their graves, staggering lethargically around the headstones that should have been their final resting place. Coming from the back of the large cemetery they are a good distance away, but behind him only sixty yards stretches between the herd and the fountain of muddy water that is spewing out from beneath the van.

"Son of a bitch!" Jesus roars a moment before Rick sees him open his door and slip out into the rain before anyone can stop him.

"No!"

"Jesus!"

"Oh, God."

"Daryl!" Rick hollers and the hunter is halfway out the door before the sheriff can even give the command.

"I'm on it!"

"Hurry!" Rick nearly chokes on his heart which is lodged high in his throat. He continues to floor the gas and he can feel the van rocking from the efforts of the strong hands pressed determinedly against the back panel. "Come on, come on, come on," he utters, glaring out the window as he constantly measures the distance between his friends and the approaching march of gory madness.

He rocks forward in his seat, an attempt to do something – anything – that feels somewhat productive as the tires continue their fruitless churning. "Come on God dammit!" He pounds a fist into the dashboard and is somewhat startled when the van jumps forward, grabbing onto solid earth for just a moment before slinking back into the mire.

The vehicle dances forward and back several times, to the frightened and frustrated dismay of its passengers. Squinting to get a clearer view through the rain, Rick measures the distance of the closest walkers. About forty yards. _Fuck!_ "Erin, take the wheel!" He shifts into park and jumps from the driver's seat, rushing to the bumperless rear end as Erin takes over on the gas pedal.

He steps between the muddy men at either taillight and throws all of his might against the metal, using his mind as much as his muscles as he wishes and prays and hopes that the earth will release its hold. The van lurches forward again, teasing them with the dream of escape but ultimately keeping them caught in this nightmare as it settles back once more. He loses his footing in the bog that is sucking at his boots and goes down to one knee with a curse. Fighting the furious wave of dirty water that is pounding against his body, he pulls himself up and glances back to see a wall of hungry hands only twenty feet away. _Oh Christ._ "Now!" He gets a better hold beneath his foot and shakes the water from his eyes as he pushes once more, refusing to let up until they are free from the mud. Screaming with the effort, he coughs on a huge gasp of relief when the tires finally catch onto something solid and the van lurches forward several feet, leaving him and his comrades scrambling face down in the sludge as it continues to roll further out onto the hard pavement of Ogeechee Road.

He sees Jesus move toward the door that Erin had left opened on the driver's side so he follows Daryl around to the right, and falls over his partner when Daryl goes down with a painful groan. "Daryl!"

"Rick!" Erin screams and he knows that the walkers have reached them.

He grabs Daryl beneath the armpits and forcefully throws him into the back seat, hearing a curse about a stupid knee as he slams the door on his friend and dives into the front passenger seat. "Go, go, go!" he shouts, kicking his heel into the chest of a lanky cadaver as she floors the gas. Baring its fetid teeth, the creature stumbles backward. Rick reaches for the door handle, now swinging inward with the momentum of the accelerator, and slams it shut on another hand that is clawing out for his arm. Three fingers, from the bony knuckles to the broken nails with badly chipped pink polish, fall into the car and roll under his seat, a gruesome souvenir from the city he'd foolishly hoped would give them refuge.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later he is back behind the wheel after reaching a safe distance from the city to stop and switch positions with Erin. His hands are relaxed upon the steering wheel, the skin on his arms and neck feeling tighter and tighter with every mile as the mud dries into a coat of pasty gray. Driving northwest on Berwick Boulevard, he thinks of the city and how it had looked before The Turn, with its beautiful cathedrals and charming Victorian homes along the oak-lined streets. Disappointment wars with anger over the loss of it all.

As upset as he is about not finding a refugee center waiting for them, he is even more saddened that they'd never gotten the chance to feel the white sands of the beach. He was so sure that he'd be carrying Erin toward the rolling shoreline of their dream that it hadn't occurred to him that they'd never even see the waves.

Who knows if he'll feel any sand between his toes ever again? Maybe all of the beaches on this coast are barricaded by the dead now, considering that most of them are bordering highly populated towns due to the lucrative revenue of tourism. Which means that Daytona is most likely under the twisted thumb of walker law as well. Maybe they should just stay inland like Dale and Morgan were pushing for. They can look for another farm on the outskirts of Adabelle. Maybe find something like Hershel's. He can't be the only one who's been untouched so far. _Who am I kidding?_ There isn't a place on earth that hasn't been affected to some degree. And if they do find another farm that has avoided invasion, chances are it'll still be occupied by its owners, which puts them right back in the position they are in now. Maybe he'll come up with an appeal that will finally convince Hershel to let them stay. Caught tightly between a perilous rock and a desperately hard place, he's got about fifty-five miles to come up with it. Fifty-four… fifty-three…

When he turns into the long dirt drive nearly two hours later, the rain has softened to a moderate drizzle and he has nothing new to offer in the form of an appeal. But he's going to try again anyway.

Following the lane past the windmill, he swings around to park in front of the house. He turns the engine off as a low rumble of thunder rolls across the late afternoon sky. A door opens behind him and Jesus climbs out, followed by Michonne. He watches them head toward the campers and notices a block of lantern light glowing in the doorway of the barn _. Hershel._ He gazes at the light for several moments and then looks over at his copilot who has yet to open her door.

Erin reaches across the console and takes his hand. "Whatever happens, we'll be okay as long we're together." He nods quietly in agreement, drawing strength from her once again. She lifts his hand to her mouth and presses her lips to his fist. "I'm going to see if Patricia needs help with dinner." She gets out of the van and Rick watches her walk to the porch with her shoulders hunched to the rain.

"You gonna talk to Hershel again, ain't ya?" Daryl asks from the back seat, seeming to be in no rush to exit the vehicle either.

"I have to."

"I'll come with ya."

"How's your knee?"

"Not bad. Just pissed it off a little's all. I can make it to the barn."

"Alright. Just let me do the talking."

The rain taps a light drum roll on the roof of the barn as they near the opened door. Walking slowly to accommodate the temperamental knee of his partner, Rick turns to ask how he is holding up, but swallows the question when he hears a painful grunt within the building and the muttering curse of a deep voice that he does not recognize.

"Daddy!" Beth's terrified voice echoes from the rafters inside the big barn, freezing Rick's blood as he pulls Daryl against the wall just outside the doorway.

"Now, I'm not gonna ask you again, old timer," a strong Philadelphia accent ricochets off the stalls. "How many people you got in that house up there?"


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N** **Thank you so much for all the amazing reviews! They mean the world to me! :)**

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Chapter Fifty-four

Cool rain drips down the neck of his tan button-up shirt as Rick stands at the weathered wall of the barn, peering through a two-inch gap in the boards. Illuminated by a lantern hanging from a hook near the opened doorway, he can see a husky man in a dark flat cap and a white tee shirt that stretches taut across his stocky frame. The light also shines on Beth's terrified face as he holds her back against his chest, one beefy arm wrapped around her shoulders and the glint of a knife in the other hand at her throat. Hershel's knees are on the dirt floor as he holds his hands behind his head in respect for the gun that is aimed at his nose. A man with short dark hair and a sleeveless blue tee shirt, whose profile seems more young than old, stands at the other end of the handgun, his attitude both casual and menacing all in one relaxed yet aggressive breath.

"There's nobody else here, I swear," Hershel pleads with the man.

"Yeah, that's what you said before your lovely daughter walked in. So forgive me if I don't believe you," the intruder says, his accent hinting at south Philly.

"Please don't hurt her. I'll do whatever you want. Just, please let her go."

Rick turns to Daryl as he releases the safety on his gun. "Two guys holding Beth and Hershel," he whispers quietly. "I don't see anyone else but let's go around back to get another look."

After stopping at the partially opened side door to get a glimpse from that angle, he stands at the back wall with his face pressed to the boards just to the left of the open double doors. It is darker at this end with little exposure to the lantern and no sun to help brighten the area so close to the woods, but he can see enough to know that there are only the four humans among the shadows of the horses stirring restlessly in their stalls, feeding off the tension inside the charged atmosphere of the barn.

"Maybe we could set it on fire and smoke 'em out," Daryl says softly.

"No, despite the rain it'll go up quick and I'd hate for our people to get caught inside. A fire this size would also attract walkers," Rick replies in the same whispered tone. "No, we have to do this quietly."

"Okay. What do ya wanna do?"

"You know that ladder that leads up to the loft by the side door? You think your knee will make it up there?"

"Yeah, I'll make it."

"Alright, take a position up top and keep your bow aimed at the guy holding Beth. As soon as I step into the doorway, take him out and I'll get the guy on Hershel."

"Got it."

Leaving Daryl at the ladder, Rick continues back to the front doors, and listens to the threats of the men and the pleading responses of Hershel while Beth whimpers uncontrollably. _Come on, Daryl, get up there._ Watching through the gap, he sees the stocky man pulling Beth toward an empty stall on the left as he mumbles something about a good time. _Fuck!_

Rick steps into the opened doorway with his gun aimed at the man with the blue shirt, but speaks to the man in the flat cap. "Let her go! Right now or your friend gets a bullet in his brain!"

"Go ahead," the man replies with an air of sarcastic humor. "You can have Dave. This sweet piece of ass would be totally worth it."

"Bite me, Tony," his friend Dave responds, keeping his gun on Hershel but never taking his eyes from Rick's.

"Yeah, maybe someday I will," Tony says, shifting his position slightly so that Beth's body is now shielding his. "After I'm done with this little meal."

"Calm down, Tony," Dave says with a quick glance at his friend before locking onto Rick's gaze once more. "Look, we don't want any trouble. We're just looking for a little fun. You know how it is."

Rick narrows his eyes at the man, his veins burning with a hatred so strong he has to fight to control his rage so that he can concentrate on doing his job. "No. I don't," he replies firmly. "Drop your gun."

After a brief hesitation, the man paints on an easy smile as he slowly lifts his arms. "Alright, nobody needs to get hurt here. Let's just talk about this. I'm sure we can work something out," Dave says jovially but in the next breath his smile falters and he lowers his hands, swiftly bringing the gun down with its muzzle aimed at Rick.

Rick doesn't hesitate. He fires a single shot into Dave's forehead and quickly swings his hand to the left, toward the stall that Beth is disappearing into as she shrieks within the arms of her assailant.

"Drop that gun or I'll gut her, I swear it!" Tony yells, crouched behind the wall of half wood and chicken wire.

"Please." Beth's terrified cry floats heavy on the hay-scented air, twisting Rick's heart as he meets her father's eyes as Hershel rises to his feet.

"Alright, I'm laying it down." He lowers his arm slightly, just enough to get it below the solid half of the wall and out of the man's view. "Just let her go and we'll let you walk out of here."

"You think I'm an idiot? She's the only thing between me and a bullet!"

From the corner of his eye, Rick sees a shadow slither across the hayloft above them. _Thank you baby Jesus!_ Now he just needs to buy some time to let Daryl get into position. "Listen, right now I'm the only thing standing between you and your freedom. Let her go now and you'll walk out on your own. If you wait too long, you're gonna have a dozen more men to deal with. My friends in the house probably heard that shot and are on their way over here right now to check on Hershel. Those guys won't be as reasonable as me, so I suggest you come out now while you still have time to get away." He hears movement in the small space and imagines the guy testing the outer wall for a quicker escape. He looks up to the loft and sees the tip of an arrow moving slowly side to side as it follows Tony in his search. _Come on, man. Take the shot!_ When the bow remains silent, he realizes that Beth must be in the line of fire.

A moment later, Tony stands taller and Rick can see the top of his head behind Beth. "Alright, we're comin' out," he calls loudly before murmuring to his hostage. "Come on, sweet thing."

Breathing long and steady, Rick works hard to remain calm as Tony steps to the threshold, Beth shielding his body in the doorway as he holds the knife to her throat.

"Drop your gun or she's dead!"

Holding the Colt out to his side, he bends slowly at his waist, displaying the good intentions of placing the gun on the floor. "Easy now, I'm putting it down."

"Hurry up!" With Beth still held captive against his chest, Tony nudges her forward and they both step out of the stall. He turns her slightly until they are both facing Rick, leaving the profile of his skull exposed to the arrow aimed down from above. "I don't ha-" His head snaps to the side by the force of the arrow, cutting his words short when the tip is lodged deep in his brain.

The man falls to the floor and Rick rushes forward as Beth stumbles into her father's arms. With his gun aimed at Tony's head, he kicks the boot at the end of one leg, checking for a sign of life. Seeing no response and no chance of turning with the arrow in his skull, he looks up to Daryl with a grateful nod. "I'm going to check on the others," he calls up to his partner and then looks over to the farmer, still holding his daughter as she cries into his chest. "Hershel, help Daryl get down and then meet me at the house."

"I'll get him down," the older man replies. "Just go."

Racing to the house, he gets about halfway and sees Aaron and Jesus running toward him. He skids to a stop and quickly asks, "Is everyone okay inside?"

"Yeah, we're fine but we heard a shot out here," Aaron says. "What happened?"

"Two guys were holding Hershel and Beth in the barn." Rick rubs a hand through his hair and the soft rain slicks it back from his face. "Let's go inside and I'll fill everyone in." He jogs quickly toward the porch, anxious to see for himself that Erin and Carl and Kelly are unharmed.

He finds the entire household standing about the two front rooms as they wait for word from Aaron and Jesus. Carl is sitting at the top of the staircase with Sophia and Duane standing behind him, the latter swaying slightly on his crutches. He sees Carol sitting halfway up the stairs, protecting her young. Stepping into the foyer he takes Erin's hand, squeezing it tightly to calm his racing heart, and then proceeds to tell everyone what had happened out in the barn.

"I'm so sorry, Rick. I never saw them," Aaron apologizes with a look of grief-stricken regret. "I was looking out from the back porch the whole time, but I swear, I never saw anyone out there."

"They came through the woods at the back of the barn," Hershel says as he walks into the front door followed by Beth and Daryl. "No way you could've spotted them."

"Hershel, my God, I'm so sorry." Aaron steps forward to meet the man and Maggie rushes past him to throw her arms around her father and sister.

"It's not your fault," Hershel replies over Maggie's head. "But now we know that we need to put more guards out there. Definitely one in the loft of the barn. Rick, would you mind taking the first shift with me? You and I can talk about living arrangements for your group."

"You mean… we can stay?" he swallows hard, praying that he hadn't misunderstood Hershel's words.

"We can't defend this place on our own. And I realize now that not everyone out there will be as friendly as you folks. So yes, son. You can stay."

"Yes!" Beth screeches in her sister's arms.

"Just not too close to my daughter," the farmer adds with a glare at Daryl, which quickly softens to an expression of warmth when he nods at the hunter standing in the doorway. "Thank you again for saving her life."

"Thank you, Hershel," Rick says with solemn sincerity, his voice breaking slightly under the tremendous gratitude. "I promise we will protect this place for you," he vows, extremely relieved at the turn of events.

"Do you have room for all of us inside?" Amy asks.

Maggie clears her throat and says, "I'll stay in with Beth so that gives you one more bedroom upstairs along with the other one down here with the daybed."

"We've got a spare bedroom in the cottage," Otis offers with a quick glance at Patricia. "It's small but it has two bunk beds."

"I'll take one," Tara says with a gracious smile.

"And I'll take the other," Amy says at Tara's side. "If that's okay?" Tara puts an arm around Amy's shoulders, giving her seal of approval, and the deliberations move on.

"Carol, you and Sophia take the bedroom upstairs," Dale says. "I'll stay in the Winnebago."

"I'll stay with him," Glenn adds, giving Hershel a pointed look with a nod that says, ' _I will keep a respectable distance from your daughter – but not too far.'_

"Jesus and I will stay in our camper," Aaron says, "So Michonne can have the bedroom downstairs. Eugene, you can stay with us."

"Okay, does that cover everyone now?" Rick asks, pleased with the way that they are all working together, sorting things out with nobility and grace. "The rest of us will keep the rooms we've had."

"What about Daryl?" Beth calls out. "He can-,"

"Sleep on the couch in the den," Hershel cuts in brusquely, finishing the sentence as he sees fit.

"Much obliged." Daryl gives him a short but sincere nod and the newly extended family is formed...


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N Thank you soooo much for the amazing reviews! I honestly can't express how much they mean to me.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-five

Erin opens her eyes to a chill in the air, cooling the beams of sunlight that had chased the moon into hiding. Her lids flutter a time or two until she makes the decision to keep them closed, shutting out the morning for just a little bit longer. She inhales a deep breath with a sleepy yawn and reaches over to the pillow beside her, pulling it under her cheek to breathe the scent of the man that still lingers in its fibers.

Nearing mid-September, the days are still warm but the mornings are cool and the choking humidity of southern August has lessened to a much more bearable state of muggy. The summer flew in the blink of an eye and she can hardly believe that winter will soon be blowing its icy breath down their necks. She is not looking forward to it herself, but the way Rick's hair has grown he won't feel a thing. She thinks of the way he had looked when she'd watched him dress this morning, with his long thick waves brushed back from his face and curling freely behind his ears and over the collar of his blue work shirt. The sexy cleft in his chin will be protected by the full beard that stretches neatly across his jaws, threaded lightly with wisps of gray highlighting his sideburns and dimpled chin. She loves to tease him about his newly acquired old man status, frequently calling him by the name of Hershel. He pays her back by threatening to shave it all off, to which she quickly relents. She loves his rugged mountain man look and thoroughly enjoys the feel of the thick whiskers against her soft skin, especially that of her inner thighs.

Along with the beard, he has grown more muscular with the physical labor of fortifying the farm and the farming itself. Eating regular meals on a daily basis for three months has also filled him out, giving him back all the weight he had lost during his coma and the first few weeks on the road. She, on the other hand, has probably lost weight the last couple of weeks, feeling too queasy to eat after a day of gardening in the hot sun. Even after a mandatory day off yesterday, ordered by a concerned animal doctor, she still feels a bit queasy this morning. Though it doesn't usually make her nauseous, she is sure to be getting her period any day now, especially after how sensitive her breasts had felt in her husband's hands last night.

He had woken her in the heart of the night, when the whole world seemed to be sleeping except for the scores of male crickets calling for a mate in the darkness outside their bedroom window, vigorously rubbing their wings together to create an alluring song.

Rick didn't have to work as hard, calling her with no more than a gentle caress on her hip and serenading her with his touch. Pressed against her back, he had massaged her chest until she had come fully awake with a moan. Teasing her nipple, she had nearly flinched at the extreme sensitivity, and turned a painful groan into a lusty whimper as he'd nibbled at the back of her neck. When he possessed her body, it was quick and consuming, quiet and carnal, slipping inside her as they lay spooning in the silent hours of the night.

Afterward, with his heart beating wildly against her spine and her body singing with endorphins as he slowly softened within her, she had become so overwhelmed with emotion that she had to swallow the immense wedge of affection that had swelled in her throat. _"Do you think we'll ever get tired of each other?"_ she had asked.

" _Not in my lifetime, no."_

" _How is it that it always feels so new, so unique from the last time, which sometimes is only a few hours before?"_

" _Because every time is special with you,"_ he'd murmured gently against her hair. _"Every breath is precious, and every touch means something."_ He caressed the outside of her thigh, illustrating his point.

" _It really does, doesn't it?"_ Reaching back she held her hand over his as it rode over the curve of her hip.

" _Yes,"_ he whispered with a tender squeeze.

" _I love you, honey,"_ she'd said softly, taking his hand and tucking it under her chin as she closed her eyes against the moisture building behind them.

" _I love you back, Red. Always."_

Breathing into his pillow now, with her eyes closed to hold the memories of last night and so many others before, she can still feel the warm sentiment of his touch upon her, the comforting weight of his body against her, and the wonderful thickness of his desire inside her. Tucked blissfully snug in his bed, she ignores the prickly thorn of guilt she feels for drifting back to sleep while he is outside working hard to keep her safe; reinforcing the new spiked fence line and digging the deep trench that will circle the house and barn.

Nearly two hours later a knock on the bedroom door pulls her up from her slumber and she is instantly alert, her body instinctively telling her that she should have been up long ago.

"Erin?" Carol's voice calls through the door. The knob rustles softly before it opens an inch or two. "Are you alright?" she asks through the narrow crack.

"Yeah, come on in," Erin tells her as she glances at the old fashioned mantle clock sitting on her dresser. "Jeez, why'd you let me sleep so late? I was going to help you with the math lessons this morning."

"Don't worry," Carol says, opening the door enough to get her head and shoulders through. "We waited for you. Carl insisted."

"Oh please," she responds dryly. "He was just stalling for as long as he could."

"That too. He got lucky, because apparently you needed your sleep."

Erin rubs the heels of her hands against her eyes to clear the lingering remnants of sleep. "God, I haven't slept this late since the day after my last final at Emory."

"You feeling okay?" Carol asks, her voice rich with motherly interest. "Maybe you're coming down with something."

"No, I feel fine, just lazy. Blame Rick's libido," she says, rolling her eyes with a smirk as she leans up onto her elbows. "Let me get dressed and I'll be right down."

"Okay. I'll go round up the kids. Wish me luck finding Carl. I swear," Carol murmurs as she backs out of the doorway. "If that boy worked half as hard at his math problems as he does at disappearing, he'd be the next Albert Einstein."

Twenty minutes later, Erin is sitting at the dining room table across from her friend. Sophia is at the head of the table with the boys filling the seats on either side, sandwiched between the young girl and the two women. Amy passes through on her way to the kitchen as Carol points to a parallelogram in one of the eighth grade workbooks.

Last month, much to Carl's chagrin, Glenn had found a series of workbooks for seventh through tenth graders, covering the basics of math, science, English and history. Concentrating mostly on math and science – the kids favorite when Eugene gets involved, and a light focus on English – striving to keep the children somewhat civilized in what has become a barbaric world, they open the history books only on rare occasions, feeling that history now only matters in terms of Before or After the Turn. Being a scholar on all things relevant to the American Revolution or World War II will not help you to better your chance of survival or improve your quality of life in the world that exists today. In this world, physical education has taken a whole new meaning and they've recently added a gym class to their program, now that Carl's wrist and Duane's leg are completely healed. Gearing toward the physical demands of the current world, they give them what may be the most important lesson of all – how to run. Five days a week they suffer through a cycle of pushups, jumping jacks and a hundred yard dash sprints, which most of the house gets involved in. Three of those days, after the last winded sprint to the fence and back, they also spend some time on basic survival skills, including first aid and self defense, in which the entire house participates. For they all know there is but one equation that matters the most; the sum of the strength in your numbers times the remainder of your wits plus a fraction of honor equals a future worth living. And these kids are that future. If they can just make it through algebra and geometry.

"This is dumb. Why do we need to learn this stuff anyway?" Carl complains after Sophia gives the answer to the fourth question on the page.

Erin knows that her thirteen year old stepson is very bright, but highly competitive, putting a chip on his shoulder when one of his friends beats him to an answer, especially, it seems lately, when it is Sophia. Having been a hormonal teenager herself once, and feeling those hormones surge even more out of whack over the past few days, she believes that Carl is acting out of some strange feelings that the young girl is stirring within him. The poor kid is undoubtedly oblivious to the fact that he has fallen victim to his first crush. Still in the stage of pigtail pulling, he has been snapping at Sophia more and more and Erin makes a mental note to have Rick talk to the boy later.

Now, trying to rein him in so they can carry on with the lessons, she calmly replies to his question. "Because it's going to be up to you guys to rebuild the world. You'll need to know how to measure things from the ground up." Erin imagines an older Carl, in his late twenties, designing a new-age power plant after a cure is found and civilization can be restored. She feels tears of pride burn the backs of her eyes and she swallows hard, turning off the emotional spigot that seems to turn on at the drop of a hat lately.

She moves onto the next question and the lessons continue through the morning, keeping to their schedule of three hour sessions for four days a week. Listening to Duane's voice reading from chapter twelve of S.E Hinton's coming-of-age classic 'The Outsiders', Erin fights to keep her eyes open during an argument between Ponyboy and his brother Darry. One of her all-time favorite books, she always looks forward to this part of the session, but she is finding it very difficult to get absorbed into the fabric of the story today.

When Rick follows Hershel and Eugene and Kelly into the front door, she meets his eyes with a smile, followed by a yawn and another smile, and then tries listening to the conversation they are having in the next room; something about adding another windmill by the lookout tower on the western fence. Her hazy brain only picks up bits and pieces of their quiet discussion before her focus is called to the kitchen where Maggie and Glenn had just entered through the side door, arms full of vegetables. She returns to Ponyboy's story but when the aroma of chopped onions and bell peppers drifts into the dining room, her stomach does a wicked flip and bile begins to rise in the back of her throat.

She closes her eyes against a ripple of nausea and opens them again to see Rick watching her, an expression of concern etched on his face as he runs a hand through his hair, taming a long wavy strand that had fallen loosely over his forehead. She gives him a reassuring smile and turns to her colleague sitting across the table. "Carol, would you mind finishing without me?"

"Of course. Go lay down, sweetie. You don't look so good."

Pushing her chair back with a clatter on the hardwood floor, Erin rises from the table only to have her knees buckle, tilting the room at an odd angle when a wave of vertigo knocks her off balance. From what seems to be a faraway distance through the ringing in her ears, she hears Rick's voice yelling as she falls into his arms a moment before everything fades to black.


	56. Chapter 56

Chapter Fifty-six

" _Erin!_ Come on, honey… 'pen your eyes, bab… _somebody get_..."

Rick's voice breaks through the haze surrounding her and Erin tries to bring him into focus through her fluttering eyelids. Feeling completely weightless, she tries to lift her head but her neck won't work. She views the old farmhouse at an odd angle beyond Rick's shoulder; a glimpse of ancient scuffs and scratches in the dark wood framing the doorway between the dining room and kitchen… the bright sheet metal on the side of the refrigerator… the white curtain that covers the back door off the center hall…

Rick's profile passes in front of another dark door and she focuses on one unruly curl that reaches for the corner of his eye. She locks her gaze onto the thick lashes that blink fretfully over his pretty blue iris, and then she loses her footing on consciousness and slips back into the mist of oblivion once more.

When she opens her eyes again, she feels the softness of a mattress beneath her as she looks up into Rick's face, still handsome despite the lines of worry creasing his forehead. His fingertips are warm as they tremble lightly over her cheek.

"Hey, Red. Look at me. Are you okay, sweetheart?"

Unable to string a collection of syllables together in response, she looks from his face to the furniture and walls of the bedroom that Morgan shares with his son, just off the kitchen at the back of the house. Kicking against the current of murkiness, she looks to her left and tries to focus on the white-haired man who is holding her wrist between his fingers as he studies his watch.

"Erin, you're scaring the shit out of me. Talk to me, honey."

The force of authority and the magnitude of fear in Rick's voice pulls her hazy gaze from Hershel and focuses her mind on her husband. She watches him turn briefly and take something from Maggie's hand. A moment later, the coolness of a damp washcloth covers her brows and forehead. "What happened?" she asks when her brain finally connects with her voice box.

"You fainted," Rick replies, sounding a little relieved but no less alarmed. "How are you feeling? Are your gums bleeding?" he asks quickly, tremulously, as if he really doesn't want to hear for fear of the answer.

"No, honey. I'm okay and my gums are fine," she replies with a questioning look.

"Are you sure? Hershel says that a sign of leukemia is fatigue and loss of appetite and bleeding gums."

Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she pulls the cloth from her brow and lays a gentle hand on his troubled cheek. "I'm fine, honestly. I'm just a little tired and lightheaded, not totally wiped out and out of breath like I felt when I was sick."

"What if it's coming back though?" he asks, the terror swimming in his eyes nearly drowning her breaking heart. "What if this is the beginning of it?"

"Hold on, Rick," Hershel says, fingering the stethoscope around his neck. "She just fainted and there are a lot of things that can cause that, so let's not jump to conclusions here. We don't need to go there just yet. Erin, when was your last period?" he asks, his straightforward clinical manner of medicine suffused with a strong dose of compassion, a warm bedside manner bred from years of treating frightened animals.

"Over three months ago, which is normal for me. I should be getting it soon."

"Well, your heart sounds okay, your blood pressure is fine and your color is good. I know the chemotherapy did a number on your body and lowered your chances of getting pregnant, but I just wonder if maybe..."

"I can't be. The doctors all said it was impossible."

"The odds may have been astronomical, but they are rarely impossible. I have heard of women conceiving against all odds, as miraculous as that sounds. If we can get a home pregnancy test, we can rule it out. Or perhaps we will find that you've got a little miracle growing inside you."

The thought of Rick's baby growing inside her brings her unfathomable joy, and a tremendous fear of the crushing disappointment she would endure after getting her hopes up. Her mind whirls until too many thoughts laced with too many emotions freezes it into a complete lump of numbness. When she looks at Rick for support, she sees more than a shimmer of fear in his eyes too; a much stronger, almost angry fear that bears a bitter hint of disenchantment. "Rick?" She forces his name through the swelling in her throat, the single syllable softly spoken but loaded with questioning concern.

"You said it was impossible," he murmurs, the words thick with accusation despite the numbness of his voice. "How can we…," he trails off but she knows what he is thinking by the expression on his face; his parted lips screaming _How can we bring a baby into this insane world_ , his frightened eyes crying _How can we protect a helpless infant against the horrors of our environment_ , and his pale cheeks confessing that he does not want to raise another child with nothing but death and destruction in its future.

A torrent of tears blurs her vision. "I'm sorry," she apologizes, feeling as if she had been dishonest with him, however unintentional it had been. "They told me I couldn't." She can't fight the quiver in her lips and gives in to the wretched sob that bubbles up from her heart.

"Oh, God, baby I'm so sorry." He pulls her into his arms and she buries her face in neck. "Don't cry sweetheart, it's wonderful news."

She sniffles hard against the dark green collar of his plaid button up shirt. "It is?"

"Of course it is." He leans back and she lifts her head to meet his eyes, searching for the truth in his gaze. "I'm just an idiot and I got spooked for a second," he admits, wiping a gentle finger to the corner of her eye.

"So you do want to have a baby with me?"

"Absolutely."

She recognizes the unquestionable truth in his eyes, the utmost sincerity in his voice, and the unconditional love in the hands that are framing her face. Relief-fueled joy explodes in her chest and she collapses into his neck once again.

"Well, before you start handing out cigars, son, we need to get a pregnancy test." Hershel's voice pulls her back to face another truth – they don't know anything just yet. "Glenn?" he calls and Erin lifts her head to find her Asian friend standing in the doorway.

"Yeah," Glenn says, taking a step further into the room. "You want me to run into town?"

"Wait." Maggie throws a quick, uneasy glance at her father before looking down at Erin. "I may have something upstairs," she says softly, avoiding Hershel's eyes when she steps out of the room.

The cool air in the downstairs bedroom gets momentarily colder as Erin feels a chilly current float from Hershel to Glenn, charging the atmosphere with a palpable tension. Glenn seems to be rooted to the spot under the old man's glare and she sees his slanted eyes turn as round as a deer's that is standing in the light of an oncoming car.

Maggie's footsteps echo from the staircase and a moment later she is scurrying back into the room. "I got this last year," she says quietly to Glenn while dodging her father's deepening scowl. "But there's one more and it hasn't expired," she tells Erin, placing the rectangular box into her hand.

Five minutes later, Erin steps out of the bathroom and into Rick's arms to wait the interminable two minutes for the results to appear.

"How do you feel?" he asks, holding her tight to his chest.

"I don't know," she replies, gripping the back of his shirt to keep her hands from trembling. "Anxious. Happy. Scared. I want this so bad I'm terrified that I'm going to be disappointed."

"I know, honey. I'll be really disappointed too."

"You mean that?"

"Yeah," he breathes and she feels the heat of his dreams against her hair. "I'd love to have a little girl that looks just like you," he says, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

With her eyes closed as emotion builds heavily behind them, Erin envisions an impish little tot sitting on a large rock by a big willow tree, the sun shining on her auburn curls as she laughs at a tiny duckling with her bright blue eyes. She recalls the day that Rick had taken her to his grandfather's cabin by the small lake in Woodland… just about three months ago. Could something miraculous have happened there? Something so precious beneath the dark beams that held a patchwork of shingles while they'd enjoyed a quiet afternoon holding each other close, loving each other as the serenity of the lake kept the world from creeping in on them?

"You know," he says, breaking into her thoughts. "Three months ago we spent that day at the cabin."

"I know," she replies as a fissure climbs her spine and a scatter of wings takes flight in her belly. "I was just thinking about that too."

"Sounds like the perfect place for a miracle. Don't you think?"

"It does," she whispers into his chest as she tightens her arms around his waist, clinging to the dream of having his child. "Is it time yet? It has to be close."

His arm moves slightly against her shoulder as he turns his wrist to look at his watch. "It is."

"Okay." She can feel her heart pounding as a surge of tears rises in her throat. She can't let go of his waist. "Oh God, honey, I can't do it. You have to look."

"Okay. Love you," he murmurs against her hair as he kisses her forehead. "No matter what."

She loosens her arms and watches him step into the small bathroom off the downstairs hall. Leaning weakly against the opposite wall as their family waits patiently in the kitchen, she watches him lift the narrow stick from the sink and bring it closer to his eyes. He turns it slightly and shines a small penlight on the symbol displayed in the tiny window.

An eternity stretches before her and her eyes burn hot with unshed tears, threatening to spill in either joy or heartache. Whichever the case, she can't contain them much longer and a single tear slips out and glides down her cheek.

When he lifts his head and turns to her, her vision is lost to the flood. For in the enormously proud smile spreading slowly across his face, her world is changed forever.


	57. Chapter 57

**A/N Many thanks to my lovely reviewers! I am eternally grateful for your kind words. Only two chapters left now. Enjoy...**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-seven

The frost of early December scratches at the window of the moonlit bedroom, trying to cool the air surrounding the couple lying half hidden beneath the warm blanket. With an oversized gray tee shirt pushed up to her breasts, Erin's swollen belly lies exposed to the chilly night. A wisp of cold air wafting against the right side of her abdomen nearly causes a streak of gooseflesh to scurry up her ribcage, but with the furnace that is Rick lying against her left side, her entire body is kept at a comfortable temperature, reminding her once again that she is the most primitive kind of incubator; a lesson learned in a recent discussion with Uncle Eugene.

She also realized, while drifting on a daydream during a math lesson, that the basic rules of addition did not apply when love was thrown into the equation. Touching her belly and imagining the tiny bud growing inside, she understood without question, that one plus one equals three.

Now Erin glides her hand up the plane of Rick's bare back as he leans over her, caressing her belly with tender touches and gentle kisses as he sings softly to his unborn child. Threading her fingers through the curls at his nape, the glimmer of the full moon shimmers against her wedding band and brandishes streaks of silver in the dark hair hovering above the pale skin of her stomach. As much as she can't wait for the baby to come, she almost wishes she could stay six months pregnant forever; a lifetime of feeling the little embers of life inside her as Rick serenades them both. And as desperate as she is to hold their child, she lives for the day when she can see Rick cradling their little one in his arms.

"Come on, peanut, give Daddy a little kick."

"We really have to pick a name soon," she says, smiling with an inward groan. "You make me hungry every time you talk to the baby. It's either peanut, pumpkin, sugar plum, dumpling, babycakes, or some other yummy treat that makes my mouth water. You're killing me, sheriff. What do you say we settle on something now. A real name."

"Well, you didn't like any of the ones I suggested."

"Honey, I'm sure Bartholomew Leonardo was a fine name for your uncle, but I really don't want to get tongue-tied every time I call our child."

"It was Balthazar, not Bartholomew."

"Oh yeah. And I'm sorry, babe, but that's still number one on the list of _Not Happening_."

"Come on, we can call him Bally."

She hears the spark of amusement in his voice and knows that he is just baiting her. "I'd rather stick with peanut."

"Alright, how about something normal like Johnny?" he asks, the little spark still shining through the shadows.

"As in Cash?"

"Ooh, Cash could be his middle name!"

 _Well, two can play at that game._ "What about Bruce?" she asks, her tongue stroking the inside of her cheek.

"Johnny Bruce Grimes?" he asks directly to her belly, his lips soft against her skin as his whiskers graze her with a light tickling sensation.

"No, not Johnny!" She laughs, giving his curls a good tug. "Bruce… Spring Grimes!" she blurts after a moment of trying and failing to remember her idol's middle name. Carol had told her about the fogginess of 'pregnancy brain' but she hadn't had any trouble until just a few days ago, when she found herself struggling through the kid's history lesson.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but Spring is _not_ a middle name."

"Frederick! That's it!"

"Who's Frederick?"

"That's Bruce's middle name. So Bruce Frederick Grimes!" she announces, very pleased that her momnesia hadn't gotten the best of her.

"Um, no. You can just add that to your Not Happening list."

"Okay, how about Elvis Aaron Grimes?" she asks with a straight face but a chuckle bubbles up before long.

"How 'bout we just leave all musicians off the table?"

"Not even Elton?" She pouts in mock disappointment. "Okay, fine."

"What about a nice Celtic name like Patrick or Sean?" His attempt at an Irish lilt falls abundantly short of the pot of gold by his native accent borne from the Deep South.

"I like Sean…," she says slowly in faint consideration.

"I hear a 'but' in there," he replies, dipping his finger into the shallow crevice of her stretched out navel. "What are you thinking?"

"That we need to concentrate more on a girl's name."

"Yeah? Is that mother's intuition?" he asks quietly, his tone still sweet but turning slightly serious after the battle of the boys.

"Maybe. But you feel it too." She traces a fingertip along the swell of his bottom lip. "Don't you?" she asks, daring him to disagree.

"Yes." He parts his lips and draws her finger inside, holding her nail delicately between his teeth before releasing it with a kiss. "But I know you're wishing for a girl and I didn't want to get your hopes up in case I was wrong." He lays his cheek on her belly and looks at her tenderly. "So, sweetheart, what would you like to call our daughter?" he asks softly as she strokes his jaw.

She knows he is giving her the freedom to make the final decision, and she is grateful for that. For there is only one name that she had always wanted to call the child that she never believed she would have. "Well, when I was little, I gave all my teddy bears the same name; Tori."

"T-O-R-I?" he asks, spelling it out.

"Yes. It's Gaelic and it means _'triumphant'_. I heard it somewhere when I was four or five and it stuck. I didn't even know what it meant at the time, but from then on all my stuffed animals were called Tori-blue or Tori-green, or whichever color bow or hat or outfit it had on." She chuckles at the memory, envisioning the variety of Tori's that had lived inside her toy chest. "I know, I was not a very creative pre-schooler."

"No, but I'm sure you were adorable." He leans forward to kiss her lips. "And it's perfect." Shifting his weight again, he moves back to her belly and speaks directly to the infant kicking inside. "What do think, darling? Do you want to be our little Tori?"

The light fluttering that she'd been feeling all night becomes a solid pressure against her rib. "Ooh!" She grimaces through a bright smile. "Yes, I'd say she likes the name. She's doing a happy dance on my ribs."

"Really?" His excitement is infectious as he slides his hand a few inches northwest, resting just below the sweep of her ample breasts.

"Here." Covering his hand, she glides it down, just enough so that his fingers are sitting directly above the foot she'd felt a moment ago, pressing against her distended abdomen. She pushes down against his knuckles, pressing his hand firmly to her belly to incite a response from the infant inside.

"Come on, Tori, come dance with Daddy."

Erin feels a light tremor inside and then a stronger pressure to her ribcage, just beneath Rick's hand.

"Hah! There she is! Oh, my God," he breathes, sounding completely awestruck. "Our triumphant little miracle," he murmurs, moving his hand aside and touching his lips to the spot. The truly endearing gesture tightens Erin's throat and she has to fight a rising tide when she hears him softly whisper, "Thank you, baby Jesus."

Lying in his arms a short time later, she falls asleep to the sound of his moonlit voice as their daughter settles comfortably between them, curled up in her incubator and enjoying the serenade.

One plus one… equals three.

* * *

 _The long frothy limbs of the great weeping willow sway softly in the gentle breeze, stirring the shadows at the edge of the lake. The setting sun paints golden hues on the windows of the cabin and shimmers up the chimney toward the white smoke curling from its flue. Lying on the plaid blanket beside their willow tree, Erin rolls to her side and adjusts the two-toned tan jacket rolled up beneath her head. She smiles sleepily at the man sitting beside her, blissfully enjoying the sound of his voice as he sings to the three month old infant lying upon his lap. With soft downy hair of strawberry blonde that will probably curl when it grows in, she is a combination of both parents, inheriting her mother's Scottish coloring and heart-shaped face , and her father's bright blue eyes and dimpled chin. Clad in a white onesie that matches the pocket tee of her dad and the dolman-sleeved top of her mom, her tiny fists seem to be shaking imaginary tambourines as her little legs kick a western hoedown against his thighs._

 _Softening the original upbeat rhythm to create a lullaby she believes Johnny Cash would approve of, he sings…_

" _You can't see it with your eyes,_

 _hold it in your hands,_

 _but like the wind it covers our land,_

 _strong enough to rule the heart of any man,  
this thing called love._

 _"It can lift you up, never let you down,  
take your world and turn it around,  
ever since time, nothing's ever been found  
that's stronger than love._

 _"Most men are like me,_

 _they struggle and doubt,  
they trouble their minds_

 _day in and day out,  
too busy with livin' to worry about  
a little word like love._

 _"But when I see a mother's tenderness_  
 _as she holds her young close to her breast,_  
 _then I thank God that the world's been blessed_  
 _with a thing called love."_

 _Supporting her neck with his fingers, Rick lifts Tori up under her wiggly little arms and holds her high above him. She gazes down with wide-eyed wonder._

 _Erin looks at her with wistful emotion, her own sense of wonder at the indescribable pride and affection she feels for this tiny little being. She never could have imagined the depth of profound love contained deep inside her heart. "God, she really is beautiful, isn't she?"_

" _The most beautiful little girl in the world," he replies. "And the most loved, too."_

" _You've got Daddy wrapped around your tiny little finger already, don't you, Tori?"_

" _Oh yeah, I didn't stand a chance against this one. I mean, look at that face." He bends his elbows and turns their daughter toward Erin. "Can you smile for Mommy, Tori? Give us a big happy smile, darling." He pulls her closer and presses his lips to the soft crease of her neck, eliciting a high peal of laughter from her toothless grin._

 _Erin beams at her baby girl. "Is Daddy tickling you with his whiskers?" He does it again to another infectious squeal and Erin reaches out to touch her toes. "Wait 'til you meet your big brother. I have a feeling that Carl is going to spend a lot of time making you laugh." She leans forward to kiss her daughter's precious foot and then lifts her chin to meet her husband's sweet mouth. She places a tender kiss to his lips, and then leans even closer to lay her cheek against his as tears singe a path in her throat. "Thank you," she whispers against his whiskered jaw as the sun bathes the lake in amber._

 _His own voice is thick with emotion when he softly responds, "The pleasure is all mine."_

* * *

Walking toward the front porch of the old farmhouse, Rick turns his face toward the bright sun warming the comfortably crisp afternoon. A lovely day in early March, the sleepy Spring restrains the chill of nippy air and stretches her legs for the annual tug-of-war between Winter and Summer. A bumblebee buzzes lethargically by Rick's ear as he slides a finger along the stem of a long red rose, absently scraping a nail against the rough patch where a thorn had recently dwelled.

After finding the rosebush full of blooming red petals three days ago, he has picked two of the long-stemmed beauties every afternoon for his wife and unborn child. A tall Mikasa vase stands on the top of the old upright piano in the sitting room, brightening the corner with the elegant flowers. So far, six blooms of deep scarlet stand graceful and proud, embodying the true love of a man and a woman; beautiful, fragile, and perfect… with the possibility of pain if you don't handle it with care.

Climbing the wide brick steps leading up to the front door, he turns toward the three ladies sitting at the end of the porch, the gentle creak of their chairs a warm comforting sound on the afternoon breeze.

"More roses?" Carol asks with a friendly smile as the redhead rocking next to her beams brightly back at him.

"You're lucky they bloomed so early this year," Amy says on the other side of the redhead, now positively glowing as he holds her hazel gaze.

"Yeah, my girls are gonna have a nice big bouquet by the time Tori joins us." Bracing his fists on the armrests of Erin's chair, he leans over the prominent belly beneath his own blue flannel shirt tucked inside a pair of maternity overalls. He greets her with a tender kiss. "How are my girls doing today?" he asks softly as she gently strokes his cheeks.

"Well, one of us is running out of room to move, and the other doesn't have any energy to move."

"Well it won't be much longer. Hershel says any day now."

"I know. I just hope it's sooner rather than later."

He glances at the nearly empty water bottle on the little wicker table beside her chair. "Do you want me to get you another drink?"

"Lord, no. I just got out of the bathroom. Again," she adds with a roll of her eyes. "She's still doing handstands on my bladder and I feel like a dangerously overfilled water balloon ready to pop."

"Hang in there, honey." He leans his forehead to hers, wishing he could somehow ease her discomfort. "We're so close now." His eyes are closed but he can hear the smile in her response.

"I know," she whispers in the warmth between them. "Thank you for my flowers."

"You're welcome."

Several hours later, he watches her waddle into the bathroom again after she excuses herself from the dinner table, and then three more times during a tournament of board games. When he wakes in the middle of the night to find her awkwardly climbing out of their bed, he knows where she is headed. He lies back on the pillow and watches her take the lantern from her nightstand and walk into the hallway; a pear-shaped vision in a short-sleeved lilac maternity nightgown that sways loosely out in front of her thighs, several inches above, and ahead of, her knees.

Staring at the beautifully carved wooden cradle sitting next to their bed, a gift from her Uncle Daryl, Rick listens to the light sounds of Erin's progress as the rest of the house sleeps. When she climbs back into the bed he curls around her, tucking his legs against the backs of her thighs as he circles his arm around her enormous belly. "You okay?" he murmurs behind her ear.

"Yeah. Sorry I woke you."

"No problem." He moves his arm so that it is resting more on her hipbone as she adjusts her head on the pillow. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, my back is just aching bad tonight."

"You want the hot water bottle?"

"No, you're heating me up enough. Just stay there."

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispers against her hair. "Try to sleep now."

When he wakes again, it is to a warm wet sensation against his thigh. "Woah, honey, get up!" He rises to his elbow as he nudges her hip. "You didn't make it to the bathroom that time."

"That wasn't my bladder. I think my water just broke."


	58. Chapter 58

**A/N: Thanks for sharing Rick and Erin's journey with me. I sincerely hope you've enjoyed it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I would love to know what you think so please leave a review (no matter how long or short!). My dear Bluecrush, I thank you from the bottom of my Andy-loving heart. Your friendship means the world to me and it is an absolute pleasure sharing half a brain with you!**

 **And now, I give you the grand finale. Or is it? ;)**

 **Enjoy…**

Chapter Fifty-eight

* * *

"Baby, you're doing great. Just breathe." Rick tries to control his own racing heart as Erin collapses back onto the pillows stacked up behind her, panting heavily between contractions and trying to catch the breath he keeps insisting that she take.

"My God, it hurts," she whimpers, exhausted after nearly two hours of intense labor.

"I know, sweetheart." Kissing her damp brow, he sucks in a soft hiss between his teeth and ignores the painful sensation of the blood returning to his fingers after she loosens her death grip on his hand. Feeling utterly useless, he continues to tell her how wonderful she is doing and how much he loves her, but words can't take her pain away and he prays that it will soon be over.

The first few hours weren't too bad, with mild contractions coming roughly thirty minutes apart and lasting only about twenty seconds. But as the soft rays of the coming sun began to brighten the bedroom, things started to move quickly, and fiercely.

"Rick, please tell me again… what a miracle this baby is," she says weakly as a tear streams slowly down her cheek.

"This baby _is_ a miracle." He wipes the moisture from her skin and fights to keep his own tears from falling. "Our love is so strong that against all odds we created this little girl. She's gonna have big curls of strawberry blonde hair and she's gonna be as beautiful as her mommy."

"And as smart as her daddy… with his bright blue eyes," she says, her voice faint with fatigue but warm with tenderness.

"Come on, Tori! Let's get this over with already!" A gruff voice calls from the hallway, where a socially awkward hunter with a very big heart continues his all-night vigil, wearing out the carpet as if he were the expectant father himself.

"And she's gonna give her Uncle Daryl a heart attack if she doesn't come out soon," Rick says with a chuckle against her temple. "God, I can't wait to see her again."

"Not as much as meeeee!" she grounds out the last syllable as another contraction grips her body.

With an arm around her shoulders, he helps Erin to sit up and lean forward. He can't help but hold his own breath and bear down with her as she crunches her upper body toward her sharply bent knees. "That's it, honey. You're doing great, Red." A screaming grunt of agony echoes off the walls and pierces his heart as she suffers through the powerful contraction. "Just think about our little girl. How incredible it will feel to hold her."

"Keep pushing, Erin, this one ought to do it!" Hershel's voice calls from the other end of the bed.

Five minutes later, Maggie lays the swaddled newborn into the cradle of Rick's arms. He can't take his eyes off the precious face of his beautiful daughter, weary and wondrous and pink and perfect. "Hello, darling," he says softly, feeling as if his entire body is one giant smile. She looks up at him with an expression of curiosity in her sleepy blue-eyed gaze and he places the softest of kisses to her tiny forehead. "I love you, Tori." Turning toward his wife, he can't stop the emotional waterfall that blurs his vision when he sees the tears of happiness streaming freely down Erin's cheeks. He leans down and presses a hard kiss to her mouth, a celebration full of joy and immense gratitude, along with a healthy dose of pride woven into the fabric of his incredible love for her. "I'm so proud of you, Red." With his cheek against her jaw, he coughs to clear the dam that clogs his throat. "So proud of both of you."

"I love you," she says in a tearful whisper.

"I love you back. Oh my God, always." He kisses her cheek and then leans back to lay Tori into her arms.

"Hi, peanut," Erin says tenderly and Rick chuckles at the nickname she had once given him grief about. "We did it, baby girl. Didn't we." She caresses the teeny dimple on her daughter's chin. "Rick, she's so beautiful. Our precious little Tori," she whispers weakly and he can see her struggling to stay awake. Understandable after what she had just gone through and with very little sleep the night before.

"Erin, see if she'll nurse now," Hershel says as Maggie moves about the room with a handful of soiled towels. "The suckling will help to deliver the placenta."

Rick tightens his hold on Erin's elbow which lies beneath Tori's head, preparing to help position the baby at her breast.

"I'm so cold," she utters faintly as her head slowly dips to the side.

"Erin?" His heart falters as he feels her whole body go limp.

"Oh, no." Hershel's voice echoes from the foot of the bed, working between the pillows that are still supporting her knees. "Erin, stay with us!"

Caught in a maelstrom between the voice of the concerned doctor and the image of his unconscious wife, Rick's madly spinning brain latches onto his daughter and he pulls himself together long enough to lift Tori back into his arms. "Wh… what's happening? Erin!"

"Maggie, we need oxytocin!" Hershel yells frantically before steadying his voice to answer Rick. "She's hemorrhaging. Her uterus isn't strong enough to deliver the placenta."

"Oh my God." Rick's whole world seems to be balancing on the two hands reaching for Erin's still fairly swollen belly. "What do we do?" he asks, terrifyingly numb as his ears buzz with the pulse of a distant heartbeat.

"Otis!" Hershel yells as he presses his hands against Erin's abdomen. "Massaging it will hopefully help it to contract on its own. If not, I may need to go in and remove it manually. Otis! Somebody get-"

"I'm here!" Otis rushes into the bedroom with Patricia and Beth right behind him. "You need blood?" he asks, breathless as if he had just run up the flight of stairs.

"We may so get it ready just in case," Hershel replies, his face a pale mask of professionalism that tries to hide the panic in his eyes.

"Blood?" Rick watches Otis roll up his sleeve as Patricia pulls a syringe and a length of rubber tubing out of a large black medical bag, both moving with the same sense of urgency he'd seen many times in the emergency room at Northside Hospital. "She needs blood?" His voice sounds strange to his own ears.

"Yes. If I can't control the bleeding, she'll need a transfusion and Otis is a universal donor."

"So is Erin, so… so she can take any blood. Take mine." Rick straightens his right arm in a desperate offering as his left arm holds his daughter like a football.

"No, Rick," Hershel responds brusquely as he continues to massage the uterus from the outside. "O negative can give to anyone but they can only _receive_ from another O neg. That's Otis," he quickly explains. "Beth, take the…"

In a daze of fearful anguish, Rick hears Hershel's voice speaking from an unfathomable distance as Beth takes Tori from his arms. A chair appears beside the bed and a strong dusty hand with severely bitten fingernails guides him down into it. He takes Erin's left hand as he watches Maggie's trembling fingers hang an IV bag on the corner post of the headboard across from him. Dropping his forehead to the hand held tightly in his own, he prays to God and to Jesus and all the saints that have forsaken him, "Please don't leave me, Red."

* * *

The sun strokes the horizon with the call of bluebirds singing on the breeze as Rick lies next to his wife in the room he hasn't left in two days. He listens to her steady breathing as he stares at her eyes, willing them to open, daring her to look at him with a wicked grin and tell him that it was all a joke. But she remains quiet still, shutting him out of the private world she slipped into after giving him her most precious gift two days ago. His sweet little Tori, fast asleep in her cradle a few feet away, is the picture of health, thank God, and sleeps for hours at a stretch. He looks at her often and wonders if she is visiting her mommy by a big willow tree.

With his left hand covering Erin's as it lays upon her stomach, he keeps shifting his fingers slightly, moving them just enough to gently scrape his wedding band against hers, a subconscious signal calling her home. A thin river of moisture threatens to stream from his nostrils and he inhales hard to hold it in. "Today's the day, Red. Hershel says you have to wa…wake up today." Without letting go of her hand, he lifts his wrist and lowers his chin to wipe the tears flowing down his cheeks. "So I need you to wake up now. I can't… I need you to… to come back to me. To us. Tori needs you and… and Carl needs you and … and Hershel says you…," he pauses again, sobbing through another hiccup. "He says you're running out of time." He squeezes her hand tightly in his trembling grip. "But I know you can hear me. I… I know you can. So lis… listen to me now, Red. Open your eyes." He tries to strengthen his words with the authority he has carried for years, but she doesn't respond and his grief gives way to a brief spark of anger. "Dammit, Erin, look at me!" he yells and then buries his face in her ribs. "Look at me," he cries, turning his cheek to lie upon her chest. "Look at me," he weeps softly as her heart beats faintly beneath his ear. "Please, baby. Come back to me."

When his tears are exhausted and his soul is spent, the rhythm of her heart carries him away on a dream of extraordinary love…

 _A warm breeze drifts into the window from the lake, floating over the nightstand and stirring the curled corner of a worn-out paperback copy of Jack London's 'The Call Of The Wild'. The setting sun glows rosy upon the russet blanket beneath him as Rick rises to his elbow next to Erin._

" _Easy there, sheriff," she whispers faintly after he squeezes her hand tight._

 _He loosens his grip only slightly, still holding onto her hand as if he'll never let it go. She is pale and weak but she is awake, gazing back at him through sleepy eyes – the beautiful green eyes he'd feared he would never see again. "Sorry." He lifts her hand and brings it to his lips, trying to kiss away all the pain she's endured over the last few days. "Now you have to get up, Red. We have to go back now."_

" _I can't, honey," she says weakly. "You have to let me go."_

" _No. I won't." He shakes his head adamantly, refusing to give her up. "I can't."_

" _You have to, Rick." Her lashes flutter slowly, weighed down with the trauma of her ailing body. "You have to go back to Tori and Carl."_

" _We'll go back together." He swallows hard, fighting the heartache that is ripping him apart. "I'm not leaving you here."_

" _You don't have a choice, honey. But I will see you again. I promise."_

" _No. Don't do this, Erin," he begs, tears spilling down his cheeks as he watches her fight to keep her eyes open. "I can't do this without you."_

" _Trust me. I love you. It's going to be okay, Rick." She gives him a weary smile that shatters his soul. "I need to sleep now, honey. But it's time for you to wake up."_

" _Erin, I love you!"_

" _Wake up, Rick."_

" _Erin!"_

" _Wake up, honey."_

" _Erin!"_

" _I love you. Always," she whispers softly before she gently slips away._

" _Erriiiiin!"_

Rick opens his eyes with a deep gasping breath that seems to suck in all the air that fills the small room. Something is different about this air. It seems fresher somehow. Lighter. Cleaner. _Sterilized_. A strange beeping noise chirps behind him and he turns his head. Something moves against his cheek and he lifts his hand to brush it away. When he touches his face, confusion runs rampant when he feels a thin wiry tube stretching across both cheeks with two center prongs leading into his nostrils. He dislodges the tube and looks down at his chest to find more wires connecting him to a small box halfway up on a thin metal pole. Some type of monitor. A piece of medical equipment. Like in a hospital. His hazy brain is fighting furiously, trying to grab onto something that he feels he is supposed to understand. Something tangible. Something that makes sense. An answer to a cruel riddle that seems just out of reach. Lifting his hand again, he holds it in front of his face and notices more tubes sticking out of his wrist beneath a band of gauze and surgical tape. _I'm in a hospital!_

He turns toward a table to his right and sees a bouquet of flowers, cheering up the room with their vibrant pink and purple petals. Beside the colorful floral arrangement, a tall thin vase holds a single red rose with a swatch of blurry red material tied around the glass encased stem. He blinks hard and the material focuses into the paisley pattern of a bandana. _Erin?_ He remembers the light fading from her eyes as she slipped away and a thick knot of anguish closes his throat. _Erin!_

An old familiar voice echoes in the hallway and he turns his head toward the sound, his mind caught in a whirlwind of heartbreak and confusion. He sees a flurry of people walking past the opened door, going on about their business in the brightly lit hallway, as if no strange virus had annihilated the civilized world. He hears that voice again but he doesn't trust his hearing, because the flirtatious bravado echoing through the corridor belongs to a dead man. A moment later, his eyes become just as distrustful when they see Officer Shane Walsh walk into the room.

" _Holy shit!_ Rick, you're back! You scared the shit out of us, man!"

"Shane?" Rick forces the word out of a severely dry throat, gazing in bewilderment at the joyful face of his old partner. But it can't be. _You're dead. I buried you myself_. _You're not real_. _Unless… Oh, God_. "Am I dead?" he asks, croaking low and painful.

"What? Hell no, brother, look at you!" he says, stepping into the bathroom and returning with a cup of water. "You need to shave something fierce but you are far from dead," he says, handing Rick the cup. "How are you feeling? Hold on, buddy, let me get the nurse."

"Wait," Rick says after draining the small cup to soothe his throat while his head continues to spin. He looks at the monitor beeping behind him and a distant memory swims to the surface. "I was shot."

"Yeah. Messed you up pretty good. They had you in surgery for like six hours that day."

"Yesterday?"

"What? No, you've been in a coma for five weeks, brother."

 _Five weeks!_ "It was all a dream," he murmurs, more to himself than to Shane. _My God, it felt so real._ He glances beyond Shane to glimpse the sights and sounds of the nurse's station just outside his door. The world hasn't ended. It was just a fucking nightmare _. What a nightmare!_ But it wasn't all bad. _Erin didn't die!_ Relief sweeps through is veins for just a moment until his mind catches up with reality and another truth comes crashing in.

 _She was never with me._

As the memories of the dream come flooding back, his chest hurts and his eyes sting with devastating loss. _Erin!_ He draws his knees up and turns to his side, pulling himself into a grief-stricken fetal position as he tries to fight the misery that is seeping into his soul. _She was never mine._ _Then how can it hurt so damn much?_

"Hang on, Rick," Shane says sounding suddenly concerned. "Let me get a nurse. Erin might even be on her way by now."

"Erin?" he breathes, holding onto her name like a lifeline to salvation.

"Yeah, you had your own personal body guard my friend. Remember that hot redhead you were eyeing in the ER that day?"

Rick nods his head slowly. _Always._

"She didn't even work on this floor but she was here every day, even on her days off. She'd sit with you for hours."

 _She's here. Thank you baby Jesus!_ Tears burn the back of his eyes as his chest tightens with profound relief. Wait. Of course she's here, she works here. _But she isn't mine. She never was. It was just a dream. She doesn't know me. But she came to me!_ "Why?" he asks his friend.

"If you ask me, I think she was just lonely after breaking up with her boyfriend. Imagine that – she'd rather sit with a stiff like you than be with someone who could actually carry their own end of the conversation. But maybe that was the whole point. Maybe you were a better listener than the other guy."

Rick smiles through his tears as he pictures her sitting by his bed. He glances at the small armchair in the corner and his breath catches on the thin green and white lines of the plaid blanket folded neatly on the upholstery. Their blanket! _How can that be?_

"I'd walk in," Shane continues and Rick has to tear his eyes from the blanket to focus on his friend. "And she'd be talking to you about her problems and shit while playing chess with you, moving the pieces for both of you and arguing about the game." Shane shakes his head with a laugh and Rick can't help the grin that splits his face at the image. _That's my girl._

"She's a piece of work, that one. You should've seen her when some strange virus came through here a few weeks back. Everyone was freaking out after a couple of people died and the hospital was nuts for a few days until they got it under control. She wasn't letting anybody in this room that week. The only nurses she'd let take care of you were Maggie and Beth. Even Doc Morgan ended up reporting to her instead of the other way around. He said he was afraid of her but I think he really just respected the hell out of her, you know what I mean?" Yes, Rick thinks, he most certainly did. "Doc gave her a hard time about bringing that bandana in with the rose last week, but I think he was just busting her chops a little to keep the playing field level."

 _She brought the bandana? Just like the one from the wedding I dreamt about._ He tries to hold onto the meaning of that but he can't quite get his mind around it. "Is she okay?" he asks around an enormous lump in his throat, feeling as if he's lost her. But how can he have lost her if he never had her to begin with?

"Oh yeah, she's great. Really great actually. She never gave up on you. I had my doubts," Shane says, shaking his head slowly. "But every day she told me that you were gonna come back when you were ready. Man, you sure took your sweet-ass time getting back. Even Lori was worried about you," he adds with a smirk.

 _Oh God, Carl!_ He sits up with a grimace as a sharp pain stabs him in the ribs, blossoming to a dull ache that blooms through the lower left side of his chest.

"How's Carl?" he says quickly, worried about what he put his son through. "I must've scared him pretty bad."

"Easy, Rick. He's fine. He's good. Lori brought him by a bunch of times. He actually sat with Erin yesterday and she taught him how to play chess while me and Lori grabbed something to eat."

A stream of warmth washes through him as he imagines Carl and Erin playing a game together.

"Uh, Rick. There's something I gotta tell you about me and Lori."

"What, you finally got together?" he asks, settling back against the pillow.

"What do you mean 'finally'?"

"It's about time, Shane. I've seen it coming for a while now."

"Really? I didn't even see it coming myself until two weeks ago. I mean, I'd thought about it and all but I didn't know how she felt until we took Carl hiking and he got bit by a rattlesnake."

Rick sits up in alarm, hissing through his teeth at the pain gouging at his side. "What?!"

"He's fine, don't worry, I was more afraid that Lori was gonna die of a stroke the way she was carrying on. But we got him to the hospital in Lavonia and they got the antivenin in him real quick. He thinks he's all tough now that he survived a viper bite." Shane chuckles softly but it's too soon for Rick to find the humor in his son being bitten by a rattler.

Wait. A rattlesnake bite? The memory of another incident slithers at the back of his mind.

"But after that," Shane continues, "Me and Lori just…, I don't know, something changed with her. With us. I swear I never looked at her when you guys were together though. You gotta believe that."

"It's fine, Shane."

"You're sure you're okay with it?"

"Lori and I have been over for a long, long time. I'm happy for you guys. Honestly." A voice in the hallway catches his attention and he turns his gaze toward the door. _Sweet baby Jesus._

"Don't worry, Mr. Dixon," the lovely voice says, a hint of Scottish willfulness in the tone he'd heard so many times in his dreams. "You'll be riding your motorcycle again before you know it."

"That's Erin." Shane nods his chin toward the door. "Boy, is she gonna be happy to see you."

Rick's heart trips over the wires hooking him up to the IV pole as he watches his partner walk out the door. His mouth goes dry when he hears Shane on the other side of the wall saying, " _I want you to meet someone._ "

" _He's awake?!"_

Her voice is a salve to his soul, soothing the heart that is pounding furiously inside his chest. Rubbing his suddenly sweaty palms against the thin white blanket lying across his hips, he feels like a pimply-faced hormone-raging teenager on the petrifying edge of being noticed by the queen of the prom.

A moment later, his queen literally stumbles into the room, tripping in her haste but catching herself on the end of his bed. She rights herself and stares at him with wonder in her eyes. "Rick?"

She's breathless and beautiful. "Hi," he says softly, quite breathless himself. He thinks he gives her a smile. It's hard to say; his face is numb.

"Sweet baby Jesus," she breathes as her eyes shimmer with tears. "Hi." She leans forward slightly and then straightens suddenly, as if stopping herself from jumping into his arms. He watches her blink quickly and then brush the bangs from her eyes before meeting his gaze again, clearly buying some time to collect her composure.

 _She's as nervous as I am!_

Her auburn waves are swept back into a long French braid leaving just a few tendrils willowing down the sides. He fights the urge to lift his hand and slip a silky strand behind her ear.

"I'm gonna go call Lori and Carl," Shane says from the doorway, and then Rick is vaguely aware of him saying something to a patient named Daryl in the next room.

He can't take his eyes from Erin as a light, sweet tension drifts warmly between them. No words are spoken but a lot seems to be said as they silently take in each other's presence. When a gruff voice complains to an unseen nurse next door, Rick shakes his head slightly and clears his throat. "Is that Daryl Dixon over there?" he asks, feeling like he's caught in a strange cyclone that keeps giving and taking his dearest friends. He swallows hard to ease the thickness building in his chest.

Erin does her own little head clearing motion before replying. "Yeah, you know him?" she asks with a curiously leading look, the question clearly loaded.

"Maybe," he says after a brief hesitation. "Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine as soon as his leg heals." Her eyes are full of the compassion he remembers so well. "His brother got the worst of it in the crash – Merle lost his hand. Now the governor of Georgia will have to go into the witness protection program when those guys get out. He's the one that ran them off the road."

"Erin?" A pretty black woman in burgundy nursing scrubs stands in the doorway, her long dreadlocked hair pulled back into a thick ponytail that hangs a good distance down her back.

Erin turns at the woman's voice. "Hey, Michonne."

"I see your friend finally woke up." Michonne smiles warmly. "Nice to meet you, officer."

Rick nods at the nurse, taking in the surreal vision of the dark woman dressed in scrubs that are identical to Erin's. The polyester top seems so foreign when his mind keeps showing him a figure in a brown leather vest. He tries not to stare. "Uh, yeah. You too."

The woman's eyes shine with genuine warmth. Such a different personality than the character his subconscious had created. He must have heard her name in his sleep and placed her in his dream. Just like Daryl and Merle and the others.

"Erin," Michonne says, her tone turning back to healthcare. "Sorry, but Carol Peletier is being discharged now and she wanted to see you before she left."

"Okay. Did you have any luck convincing her to leave her husband?"

"No," the dark nurse replies. "I'm hoping you can so I don't get arrested for slicing off one or two of his body parts the next time she comes in."

"I wish you would, but it's not worth it. You can't be president of your fencing club if you're in jail," Erin says.

Fencing? Huh. _Maybe not so different after all._

"I'll be right back." Erin gives him an apologetic look and hurries to the door, then turns in the threshold as if an unbreakable thread is physically keeping her from stepping all the way through. "Um, don't go anywhere."

 _Not without you._ He returns her shy smile and she walks away. Less than a minute later she rushes back in, more graceful than her first entrance but no less anxious to see him.

"So how are you feeling?" she asks as she moves to the side of the bed and lifts her wrist to look at her watch. When she puts a hand on his forearm, for just a moment, he would swear that time stood still. When the clocks tick again, she lets her fingers rest against his skin for a few extra seconds before she seems to remember the nursing protocol for a patient who has just woken from a coma. She moves her fingers to the pulse at his wrist and consults her watch to time the beats. She doesn't seem to be concentrating on her job though, looking back at his face with every other beat of his heart. He doubts she is going to get an accurate reading. He doesn't care.

Looking at her through a thin veil of confusion, he recalls – quite vividly – the incredible dream he'd just had. He stares at her for one moment that stretches into many as a visage of images dance behind his eyes; weeks of warmth and worry and precious life and death that had brought them together and made them one. All the time they had spent together, everything they had experienced together; the heartache, the pain, the pleasure, the passion. _Jesus._ How the hell can he tell her about that!

"What's the matter, Rick? Are you okay?" she asks, sounding suddenly alarmed. "Oh God, I'm such an idiot! I should've gotten the doctor right away." She turns toward the door but he grabs onto her hand to keep her from leaving.

"I'm good. Really good," he repeats wistfully as he continues to gaze up at her. "It's just… I had the strangest dream."

She gives him an odd look; a fusion of bewilderment, relief and pure glee. "What was it about?" she asks, sounding strangely… hopeful.

How the hell can he explain that dream to her? Even a condensed version would be incredibly long and make him sound completely insane. "It's a long story," he finally says, somewhat dismissively.

"Oh." Her face falls and she looks down, clearly disappointed at his unintentional brush-off.

He tugs on her hand until she is forced to sit on the edge of the bed at his hip. It feels so incredibly good to be this close to her. She sweeps a finger through her bangs in a nervous gesture as his belly rumbles profoundly. "Can I tell you about it over dinner?"

She gives him a beautiful smile as moisture glistens in her eyes again. "I'd like that. I'd like that a lot," she says, sniffling through a bashful expression of delight. "And then I can tell you about mine."

* * *

Epilogue

Two years later, in the delivery room of Northside hospital's maternity unit, her husband of fourteen months is encouraging her to breathe as another contraction seizes her body. Her tender gaze turns steely green in the blink of an eye as the rollercoaster of pains reaches another peak, eases over the top and then blessedly falls away as gravity takes the helm. She inhales deeply to catch the breath that gets swept away about every seven minutes.

"You're doing great, sweetheart."

Relaxing back into the pillow, she eases her grip on the hand that seems never quite ready to let hers go. "So are you, honey. And so is Tori. We'll both be fine, I promise."

He nods his head to placate her but she still sees a wicked flicker of fear swimming in his eyes. "I know."

"Dr. Greene is going to have everything under control," she tells him, believing that statement to be true.

"But you know he doesn't believe us whenever we tell him what will happen."

Dr. Hershel Greene had taken their words with a huge grain of salt and said they are always prepared for these situations. He told them they were just overly nervous, which was usual for expecting parents, and assured them, in a slightly condescending tone, that everything was going to be just fine. She knew he was sincerely trying to ease their anxiety, but it had still been a bit frustrating, especially in Rick's eyes.

"He may not be convinced, but Hershel will have everything ready regardless. As soon as I start to hemorrhage, he will be able to stop it." Rick looks nauseous and pale and terrified. She hooks a hand behind his neck and pulls him down until the sweat of their foreheads is blending together. "It's going to be okay, honey."

"Why did I ever let you talk me into this?" he murmurs softly.

It may have been a rhetorical question but she'll do anything to soothe his anxiety. So she reminds him one more time… "Because our love is so strong that against all odds we created this little girl. She's going to be as smart as her daddy with his bright blue eyes, and just as stubborn. You know as well as I do that Tori was going to come no matter what we did, or didn't do. Miracles don't happen by mistake, Rick. They happen because they are supposed to. You just don't know it because you never see it coming. That's the little game that Fate likes to play with us."

He leans back slightly and presses his lips to her brow. "I love you, Red."

"I love you back, honey. Always."

"I just wish this was over."

"Me too. Oh God, me toooo…." she moans as her belly contracts with another teeth clenching pain. She is catching her breath once more when her friend Amy from administration steps into the room.

"How's it going in here?" Amy asks, running a hand through her long blonde hair.

"Oh just peachy," Erin replies with a tired but excited smile. "We're moving along pretty good now so Hershel is getting prepped."

"Yeah, I just saw Dale and he said that Tara and Eugene are setting up the delivery room."

"How is everyone doing down the hall?" Erin asks, caressing Rick's hand with a comforting touch as he sits at her hip, numbly listening to Amy's report.

"Daryl just got here and he said to tell you that the crib is all set and he'll finish putting the rocking chair together tonight. Glenn says good luck. He had to run back down to the kitchen because one of the ovens caught fire and T-Dog burned his arm. Your parent's plane was delayed so Aaron and Jesus are still at the airport waiting for them, but Kelly should be here soon with your mom, Rick. Ray is sitting in traffic on seventy-five so they decided just to meet him here."

"Great. Thanks, Amy." Erin gives her friend a smile, genuinely happy to be getting her frequent reports on the rest of their friends and family.

"No problem. Good luck in there. And don't worry, Rick. She's gonna be fine."

Three hours later, after a brief time where Dr. Greene had learned that their premonition was correct, she _is_ fine. She is tired and sore but fully awake and extraordinarily happy.

The pain she'd endured was worth the picture before her now; Rick holding their darling baby girl as he serenades her with his special lullaby from Johnny Cash. With the boundless love that Erin sees in his eyes as he gazes down at Tori, she knows that even Rick would agree it was a fair price to pay. Still, she feels awful for what she put him through. When she had started to hemorrhage, the sheer terror on her husband's face had hurt her more than any contraction ever could. Though they were expecting it, and had prepared the doctor for it, it was still extremely scary. For all her assurances to Rick about the wonders of modern medicine, even she'd felt a brief moment of panic when she'd suddenly become very cold. But using all of her strength to keep her eyelids from collapsing under their tremendous weight, she had held onto consciousness long enough to hear – over the pounding of her husband's heart and the shouting of his voice echoing off of the monitors – that everything was under control.

Back in their room now, she watches her husband and daughter, both enthralled with each other, as he sits in the chair beside her bed in the cramped space of the hospital room. An expression of unconditional love is aimed at the tiny pink bundle lying in his strong arms as he sings about a thing called love, the same song that she'd heard him sing to their little girl in a long ago dream, sitting on a plaid blanket by the big willow tree at his grandfather's cabin.

" _You can't see it with your eyes,_

 _hold it in your hands,  
but like the wind it covers our land,  
strong enough to rule the heart of any man  
This thing called love._

 _"It can lift you up, never let you down,  
take your world and turn it around,  
ever since time nothing's ever been found_

 _that's stronger than love."  
_

She smiles warmly, very tired and extremely sore but incredibly happy as she looks at her family. Surrounded by the soothing melody of his voice, she closes her eyes as her soul sings along and her heart keeps the rhythm, beating strongly for the love of a man, the hope of a child, and the echo of a dream…

* * *

 **A/N Thanks again for sticking with me through this adventure. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. Please look for more updates in the not too distant future, continuing this epic love story in "Echoes of Erin: Deleted Scenes and Other Lost Dreams".**

 **~ Caren**


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